POPULAR    WORKS 
nr 

CAPTAIN  MAYNE   REID. 

1.  *HB  80ALP    HUNTER* 
$.    THB  WAR    TRAIL, 

8.  THE  HITNTEB'S  FEABT. 
<£.  THE  9MGER  HUNTER. 

5.  OSOBOLA,  TO  SEMINOLB. 
&  THB   QUADROON. 

7.   RAB01RS   AND  RBGULATOaS, 
ft   THB   WHITE   GAUNTLET. 

9.  WILD    LIFE. 

10.  THB   HEADLESS  flOB8BiU*» 

11.  LOST    LENORE. 

15.  TH23  WOOD   BANGBBt*. 
18.    THB   WHITB  CHIEF. 
14   THB    WILD   HUNTRESS, 
10.   THB    MAKOON. 

16.  THB    RIFLE    RAN  GEES. 


Otofctfn  Mayne  Reid's  works  are  oi  an  Intensely  haterert- 

tag  and  fascinating  character.    Nearly  all  of  them 

bdng  founded  upon  some  historical  eveut,  truf 

s  a  permanent  ralne  while 

lling,  earnest,  Maahlng  flctoo 

passed  by  no  noyel  of  fee  day. 

All  leaned  uniform  with  this  volume.    Price,  $1.50  each, 
and  eent/rw  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

0.    W.  DILLINGHAM,  PUBLISHER, 

BUCOB880B  TO 

G.  W.  CAELETON  &  CO.,  New  York. 


THE  MAROON. 


BT  CAPTAIN   MAYNE  REID, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SCALP  HUNTERS," — "THE  RIFLE  BANGERS," — "THI 

TIGER    HUNTER," — "  THE  WAR   TRAIL," "THE    WHITE  CHIEF," 

—"THE  HUNTER'S  FEAST," — "THE  WILD  HUNTRESS," — "THB 

WOOD  RANGERS," — "  WILD  LIFE," — "THE  MAROON,"— 

"OSCEOLA  THE  SEMINOLE," — "  THE  WHITE  GAUNT* 

LET,"— "THE    HEADLESS    HOBSEJUH,"— 

ETC.,    ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 

OOPYBIGHT,    1892,  BT 

G.    IV.   Dillingham,   Publisher^ 

SUCCESSOR  TO  G.  W.  CARLETON  &  C^ 


CONTENTS. 


I.  A  Jamaica  Sugar  Plantation,        .  .  .  9 

II.  The  Myal-man,  .  .  .  .  .          141 

III.  Loftus  Vaughan,  Esquire,  .  .  •  .14 

IV.  A  Jamaica  Dejeuner,   .  ....          18 
V.  Two  Letters,          ......     20 

VI.  Poor  Fellow,     .  .  .  .  .24 

VII.  The  Slaver, 26 

VIII.  Jowler  and  Jessuron,  .  ....          38 

IX.  The  Foolah  Prince,  .  .  .  .  .80 

X.  A  Handsome  Offer,  ....          84 

XL  Judith  Jessuron,    .  .  .  .  .87 

XII.  The  Steerage  Passenger,          ....          41 

XIII.  The  Cabin  Passenger,         .  .  .  .  .43 

XIV.  Loftus  Vaughan  on  the  Look-out,       ...          45 
XV.  Kate  and  Yola,       .  .  .  .  .  .    49 

XVI.  Two  Travellers  for  the  Same  Bourne,  .  .  53 

XVII.  Quashie, 57 

XVIII.  Travelling  at  the  Tail,  ....  59 

XIX.  On  to  Mount  Welcome,  .  .  .  .  .62 

XX.  A  Slippery  Floor,  .  .  .  .  .05 

XXI.  The  Coming  Cloud,  .  .  .  .  .67 

XXII.  The  Kiosk, 70 

XXIII.  A  Bold  Resolve,    .  ....     72 

XXIV.  The  Encounter  of  the  Couiiai,            ...          75 
XXV.  A  Surly  Reception, 77 

j       XXVI.  The  Jew  Penn, 80 

XXVII.  A  Fiery  Baptism,  .  .  .  .  .85 

XXVIII.  A  Couch  of  Silk  Cotton,         ....          88 

XXIX.  The  Tree  Fountain,  .  .  .  .  .91 

XXX.  The  Hog-hunter,          .  ....          94 

XXXI.  The  Runaway,        .  .  .  .  *  .95 

XXXII.  A  Combat  declined,     .  .  .  .  .99 

XXXIII.  The  Maroons, 102 

XXXIV.  A  Forest  Breakfast, 105 

XXXV.  Captain  Cubina, 108 

XXXVI.  Quaco  the  Guide,         .  .  .  .  .119 

XXXVII.  A  Jamaica  Justice,  .  .  .          -.  .118 

XXXVIII.  An  Unexpected  Patron,  ....        117 


SI11992 


XXXIX.  A  Plotting  Parent,  .  .  .  $  •        .121 

XL.  Another  of  the  Same,  .  ,  «  ,        124 

XLI.  A  Sweetheart  Expected,  .  .  «  .128 

XLII.  A  Love  Scene  under  the  Ceiba,  .  %  < 

XLIII.  Smythje  in  Shooting  Costume,     .  .  .  .  133 

XLIV.  A  Cockney  Sportsman,  ....        139 

XLV.  Stalking  a  Turkey,  .  .  .  .  142 

XLVI.  Symthje  Embarrassed  by  his  Boots,    .  ,  .145 

XL VII.  A  Tropic  Shower,  .  .  .  .  .148 

XLVIII.  A  Dangerous  Dance,    .  .  .  .         150 

XLLX.  Quashie  in  a  Quandary,     .  .  .  .  *          .154 

L.  A  Scarcity  of  Trousers,  .  .  .  .157 

LI.  Herbert  in  the  Happy  Valley,        ....  160 

LII.  In  Search  of  Justice,     .....         165 

LIH.  Magistrate  and  Maroon,  .  .  .  168 

LIV.  The  Smythje  Eclipse,  ..... 

LV.  A  Proposal  Postponed,       .  .  .  .  .178 

LVI.  The  Obscuration,  .....         179 

LVII.  An  Encounter  of  Eyes,       .  .  .  .  .183 

LVIII.  The  Smythje  Ball,        .....        185 

UX.  Lost  and  Won,       .  .  .  •  .  .189 

LX.  After  the  Ball,  .  .  .  .  .  .192 

LXI.  Paving  the  Way,    .  .  .  .  .  .195 

LXII.  The  Duppy's  Hole,        .....        200 

LXHI.  Chakra,  the  Myal-man,      .  *  .  .  .203 

LXIV.  The  Resurrection,         .....        206 

LXV.  Cynthia  Confessed,  .  .  .  .  .208 

LXVI.  The  Love-spell, 210 

LXVIL  The  Bargain  of  Obeah, 211 

LXVIII.  The  Mysterious  Motive,  .  .  .  .215 

LXIX.  The  Death-spell, 218 

LXX.  The  Invocation  of  Accompong,  .  .  .        219 

LXXI.  Chakra  Redivivus, 223 

LXXII.  Midnight  Wanderers,  .....        226 
LXXIII.  Tracking  the  Strollers,      .  .  .  .231 

LXXIV.  Cynthia  in  the  Way,     .....        233 
LXXV.  Strange  Disclosures,          .  .  .  .  .  236  k 

LXXVI.  A  Stormy  Scene, 239 1 

LXXVII.  Where  next  ?  .  .  .  .  .242 

LXXVIII.  A  Dark  Compact, 247 

LXXIX.  Staking  the  Sleeper,          .....  250 

LXXX.  A  Mission  for  the  Man-huntera,  .  .  .253 

LXXXI.  A  Startling  Summons,       .  .  .  .  .255 

LXXXIL  Blue  Dick,        ......        257 

LXXXIII.  The  Mysterious  Absence,  .....  259 

LXXXIV.  A  Shadowed  Spirit, 268 

LXXXV.  The  Stirrup-cup,    .  .  .  .  .  .265 

LXXXVI.  The  Horn  Signal,         t  .  .  .  .        M7 


LXXXVII.  Q^ar  j's  Queer  Encounter,          ,           •           »  870 

LXXXVIII.  An  Uncle  in  Danger,              ...  273 

LXXXIX.  An  Equestrian  Excursion,           .            •            .  .274 

XC.  Smytbje  among  the  Statues, .  •  . 

XCI.  A  Strange  Determination,                        •            .  278 

XCIL  A  Jealous  Reconnoissance,    .            •            •  280 

XCIIL  A  Spy  in  Ambush, 282 

XCIV.  A  Fell  Purpose  Defeated,  • 

XCV.  Cynthia's  Report,                                      •            .  287 

XCVI.  A  Day  of  Conjectures,           ....  289 

XCVIL  The  Sick  Traveller, 291 

XCVIII.  A  Hideous  Intruder,  .... 

XCIX.  Two  Speculative  Travellers,      ....  296 

C.  No  Blood, 298 

CI.  The  Capture  of  the  Cacadores,  .            .            .  .801 

Oil.  A  Double  Murder, 803 

CHI.  Chakra  on  the  Back  Track,         .             .            .  .805 

CIV.  The  Vigil  of  Love  and  the  Vigil  of  Jealoniy,          .  808 

CV.  Cynthia  in  Trouble,       .            .            .            .  .311 

CVI.  A  Fatal  Sneeze,         .... 

CVII.  Chakra  Trimming  His  Lamp,    .            .            .  .816 

CVIII.  Setting  the  Signal, 819 

CIX.  The  Cry  of  the  Solitaire,            .            .            .  .321 

CX.  A  Sad  Procession,     .....  824 

CXI.  The  Abduction, 826 

CXII.  Burglars  !    Robbers  1    Murderers  1 

CXIII.  Dread  Conjectures,         «-~         .            .            .  .333 
CXIV.  Smythje  Still  Living  I           .            .            ... 

CXV.  On  the  Track  of  the  Destroyer,             .            .  .  837 

CXVI.  Too  Late  1 339 

CXVII.  The  Corpse  of  a  Cousin,             .            .            .  .843 

CXVIII.  The  Sleep-spell, 

CXIX.  A  New  Job  for  Chakra,              .            .            .  .349 
CXX.  Dead  or  Asleep  ?                     .            .            . 
CXXI.   Quaco  Turned  Myal-man,           ....  355 

CXXII.   The  Rescue, 858 

CXXIII.   Down  the  Mountain,      .            ,            .            .  .860 

CXXIV.  An  Orphan, 

CXXV.  An  Involuntary  Suicide,             .            .            .  .868 

CXXVI.  Quaco  in  Ambush,     .....  872 

CXXVU.  The  Doom  of  Destiny, 878 

CXXVLLI.  Conclusion,  ...«••  §79 


CHAPTER  I. 

1   JAMAICA   SUGAR   PLANTATION. 

A  §03AR  plantation,  and  one  of  the  finest  in  the  "  land  of  springs,"  is  the 
•state  «f  "Mount  Welcome'/'  it  is  situated  about  five  miles  from  Montego 
Bay,  in  a  broad  valley,  between  two  rounded  ridges.  These  ridges,  after 
running  parallel  for  more  than  a  mile,  and  gradually  increasing  in  eleva 
tion,  at  length  converge  with  an  inward  sweep  h  to  a  stupendous  hill, 
that  fairly  merits  the  name  which  it  bears  upon  the  estate — the  "  moun- 
tain." 

Both  the  ridges  are  wooded  almost  down  to  their  bases  ;  the  woods, 
which  consist  of  shining  pimento  trees,  ending  on  each  side  in  groves 
and  island  copses,  pleasantly  interspersed  over  a  park-like  greensward. 

The  "great  house  "  or  "buff"  of  the  estate— Mount  Welcome  itself—- 
stands under  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  just  at  the  point  of  union  between 
the  two  ridges,  where  a  natural  table  or  platform,  elevated  several  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  valley,  had  offered  a  tempting  site  to  the  builder. 

In  architectural  style  it  is  not  very  different  from  other  houses  of  its 
kind,  and  after  the  same  fashion  as  the  well-kxown  planter's  dwelling  of 
the  West  Indies.  One  storey — the  lower  one,  of  course — is  of  strong 
§tone  mason-work ;  the  second  and  only  other  being  simply  a  wooden 
"  frame  "  house  set  on  the  top  of  the  stone-work,  and  roofed  with  Ameti- 
can  "  shingles." 

The  side  and  end  walls  of  this  second  storey  cannot  with  propriety  be 
termed  walls :  since  most  part  of  them  are  occupied  by  a  continuous  lin« 
of  Venetian  shutters — the  "jalousies  "  of  Jamaica. 

^  These  impart  a  singular  cage-like  appearance  to  the  house,  at  the  saoM 
time  contributing  to  its  coolness — a  quality  of  primary  importance  in  • 
tropical  climate. 

OuUide  in  the  front  centre  a  flight  of  broad  stone  steps,  resting  upoo 


1  i.   JAMAICA    FTTOAR    rLANTATKMT. 

arohed.ma>K>ri-woik,  and  Bordered  by  strong  iron  balustrades  coniactf 
to  the  level  of  the  second  storey — the  real  dwelling-house:  since  the 
ground  floor  is  eiitirely  occupied  by  store-rooms,  magazines,  and  other 
M  offices." 

The  entrance  door  is  from  the  landing  of  the  aforesaid  cscaHer,  and 
conducts  at  once  into  the  "  hall,"  a  spacious  apartment,  of  crucifix-shape, 
running  clear  across  the  building  from  side  to  side,  and  end  to  end.  The 
current  of  air  which  enters  at  the  openings  of  the  jalousies,  passing  con- 
stantly through  this  apartment,  renders  it  at  all  times  delightfully  cool, 
and  the  lattice-work  serves  to  mellow  the  glare  of  light  which,  under  the 
sky  of  the  tropics,  is  almost  as  disagreeable  as  the  heat.  The  uncarpet> 
ed  floor,  moreover,  composed  of  the  hardest  sorts  of  native  wood,  and 
subjected  to  a  diurnal  polish,  contributes  to  increase  the  coolness. 

The  great  hall  is  the  principal  apartment  of  the  dwelling.  It  is  dining 
and  drawing-room  in  one,  where  side-boards  and  cheffoniers  may  be  seen 
in  juxta-position  with  lounge  chairs,  fauteuils,  and  ottomans — a  grand 
chandelier  in  the  centre  suspended  over  all. 

The  bed-chambers  occupy  the  square  spaces  to  one  side  of  the  cross ; 
and  these  also  have  their  jalousied  windows  to  admit  the  air,  and  ex- 
clude, as  much  as  possible,  the  sultry  rays  of  the  sun. 

In  Mount  Welcome  House,  as  in  all  other  country  mansions  of  Jamaica, 
a  stranger  would  remark  a  want  of  correspondence  between  the  dwel* 
ling  itself  and  the  furniture  which  it  contains.  The  former  might  be  re- 
garded as  unsubstantial  and  even  flimsy,  for  in  reality  it  is  so.  But  it  is 
this  very  character  which  renders  it  appropriate  to  the  climate,  and 
hence  the  absence  of  substantiality  or  costliness  in  the  style  or  materials 
of  the  building. 

The  furniture,  on  the  other  hand — the  solid  tables  of  mahogany,  and 
other  ornamental  woods — the  shining  carved  sideboards — the  profuse 
show  of  silver  and  finely  cut  glass  that  rests  upon  them— the  elegant 
couches  and  chairs — the  glittering  lamps  and  candelabras — all  combine 
to  prove  that  the  quasi  meanness  of  the  Jamaica  planter's  establishment 
extends  no  farther  than  to  the  walls  of  his  house.  If  the  case  may  be 
considered  a  cheap  one,  the  jewels  contained  in  it  are  of  the  rarest  and 
costliest  kind. 

Outside,  the  great  house  of  Mount  Welcome  looks  grand  enough.  Its 
kroad  fagade,  in  which  the  deep  green  of  the  jalousies  contrasts  prettily 
with  the  white  of  the  surrounding  walls — the  massive  stone  stairway  in 
front — the  wooded  mountain  sweeping  up  and  forming  a  back-ground  uf 
variegated  green — the  noble  avenue  of  nearly  a  mile  in  length,  with  its 
double  rows  of  tamarinds  and  cocoa  palms,  leading  up  in  front — all  con- 
tribute to  produce  a  picture  of  almobi  palatial  grandeur,  especially  when 
viewed  from  the  lower  end  of  the  valley. 

Nor  does  a  nearer  view  detract  from  the  splendour  of  this  picture. 
The  platform  on  which  the  house  is  built  affords  space  for  a  large  gardetf 
and  shrubbery,  extending  rearward  to  the  mountajn-foot,  from  whick 
they  are  separated  by  a  high  wall  of  stone. 

This  mountain  is  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the  landscape.  Kot  BO 
much  from  its  height ;  for  there  are  others  of  eqnal  elevation  near  to  it, 
and  further  off,  though  still  within  sight,  many  far  Higher.  Even  the 


A  JAMAICA   StJGAk   PLAN^ATIOK  li 

lamed  "Blue  Peak  "  is  visible,  towering  hundreds  of  feet  abtve  the  §ur 
rounding  summits. 

Nor  is  it  conspicuous  from  being  isolated.  On  the  contrary ,  it  is  only 
a  spur  of  that  vast  elevated  chain  of  hills,  that  separated  by  deep  gorge- 
like  valleys,  and  soaring  thousands  of  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Carib- 
bean Sea,  are  known  as  the  "  Blue  Mountains  of  Jamaica." 

Covering  almost  the  entire  area  of  the  island,  which  is  thus  broken 
into  an  endless  succession  of  gigantic  corrugations,  Jamaica  presents  a 
surface  rough  and  irregular  as  the  crumpling  upon  a  cabbage-leaf,  and 
"  land  of  mountains  "  would  be  a  title  as  appropriate  as  its  ancient  In- 
dian appellation,  "  the  land  of  fountains." 

The  one  which  overlooks  the  estate  of  Mount  Welcome  is  only  two 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level ;  but  what  renders  it  remarkable  is  the 
geometrical  regularity  of  its  outlines,  and,  still  more,  its  singularly  shap- 
ed summit. 

Viewed  from  the  valley  below,  it  presents  the  appearance  of  an  exact 
and  somewhat  acute  cone,  up  to  within  about  fifty  yards  of  its  top. 
There  the  sloping  outline  ends,  the  line  on  each  side  thence  trending 
vertically  upward,  and  abruptly  terminating  in  a  square  table-top, 
forty  or  fifty  feet  in  diameter.  In  general  appearance,  this  truncated 
Bumrnit  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  famed  "  Cofre  di  Perote  "  of  Mexico. 

The  sloping  sides  of  the  mountain  are  densely  wooded,  especially  that 
fronting  the  estate  of  Mount  Welcome,  to  which  is  presented  a  broad 
frowning  facade,  thickly  clothed  with  a  forest  that  appears  primeval. 

Alone  at  its  top  is  the  mountain  tree-less.  There  it  is  bare  and  bald 
as  the  crown  of  a  Franciscan  friar  ;  but  only  the  square  coffer-like  sum- 
mit, which,  being  a  mass  of  solid  rock,  repels  the  approach  of  the  vege- 
table giants  that  crowd  closely  around  its  base,  some  of  them  stretching 
out  their  huge  arms  as  if  to  strangle  or  embrace  it.  One  only  has  suc- 
ceeded in  scaling  its  steep  rampart-like  wall.  A  noble  palm — the  areca 
— has  accomplished  this  feat,  and  stands  conspicuously  upon  the  table 
top,  its  plumed  leaves  waving  haughtily  aloft,  like  a  triumphant  banner 
over  some  conquered  castle. 

The  rock  itself  presents  a  singular  appearance.  Its  seamed  and  scarred 
surface  is  mottled  with  a  dark  glaze,  which  during  the  sunlight,  and  even 
under  the  mellower  beams  of  the  moon,  gives  forth  a  corruscation,  as  if 
the  light  were  reflected  from  scale  armour. 

To  the  denizens  of  the  valley  below  it  is  known  as  the  Jumbe  Rock — A 
name  characteristic  of  the  superstitious  ideas  attached  to  it — since 
"  Jumbe  "  is  the  Coromantee  appellation  for  his  Satanic  majesty.  Though 
constantly  before  their  eyes,  and  accessible  by  an  hour's  climbing  up  the 
forest  path,  there  is  not  a  negro  on  the  estate  of  Mount  Welcome,  nor  on 
any  other  for  miles  around,  that  would  venture  alone  to  visit  the  Jumbe 
rock  ;  and  to  most,  if  not  all  of  them,  the  top  of  this  mountain  is  as 
much  of  a  terra  incognita  as  the  summit  of  Chimborazo. 

This  terror  of  the  Jumbe  rock  does  not  altogether  owe  its  origin  to  a 
mere  superstition,  but  has  been  partly  inspired  by  the  remembrance  of 
*  horrid  history :  for  the  rock  has  been  the  scene  of  an  execution,  which 
for  cruel  and  cold-blooded  barbarity  rather  deserves  to  be  called  a  crime. 

That  ^able-summit,  like  the  blood  stained  temples  rf  the  Moctezumas 


THE  MYAL-MAH. 

has  been  used  as  an  altar  upon  which  a  human  sacrifice  has  been  offered 
up.  Not  in  times  long  past,  neither  by  the  sanguinary  priesthood  of 
Azteca,  but  by  men  of  white  skin  and  European  race,  cruel  and  ferocious 
as  they.  A  black  victim  has  there  breathed  his  last  If  that  lone  palm 
could  speak,  it  might  tell  a  wild  tale  of  woe,  as  testified  by  the  bones 
that  lie  scattered  around  its  root — the  chief  sustenance  of  its  vigorous 
rerdure  I  The  tree  is  iilent ;  but  for  all  that  the  story  has  been  told :  no 
legend  either,  but  a  veritable  history;  and  one  of  such  an  atrocious 
character  as  needs  to  stand  in  a  chapter  by  itself. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THl  MTAL-MAH. 

IN  Jamaica,  a  few  years  previous  to  the  period  when  our  tale  opens, 
there  was  much  agitation  on  the  subject  of  "  obeah-ism." 

The  practise  of  this  horrid  art  had  become  appallingly  common — so 
common  that  upon  almost  every  extensive  estate  in  the  island  there  was 
a  "  professor,"  of  it,  in  other  words,  an  "  obeah-man."  "  Professor," 
though  often  used  in  speaking  of  these  charlatans,  is  not  a  correct  title. 
To  have  professed  it — at  least  in  the  hearing  of  the  whites — would  have 
been  attended  with  peril ;  since  it  was  punishable  by  the  death  penalty. 
Practitioner  is  a  more  appropriate  appellation. 

These  mysterious  doctors  were  almost  always  men — very  rarely 
women — and  usually  natives  of  Africa.  Universally  were  they  persons 
of  advanced  age  and  hideous  aspect ;  the  uglier  the  more  successful  in 
the  pursuit  of  their  criminal  calling.  There  was  a  class  of  them  distin- 
guished as  "  myal-men,"  whose  chief  distinction  consisted  in  their  being 
able  to  restore  life  to  a  dead  body.  Such  was  the  belief  of  their  igno- 
rant fellow  slaves,  who  little  suspected  that  the  defunct  subject  had  been 
only  dormant,  not  dead :  his  death-like  slumber  having  been  secretly 
brought  about  by  the  myal-man  himself,  assisted  by  a  prescription  of  the 
branched  "  calalue" — a  species  of  caladiwn. 

I  cannot  here  enter  into  an  explanation  of  the  mysteries  of  Obi,  which 
are  simple  enough  when  understood.  I  have  met  it  in  every  land  where  it 
has  been  my  lot  to  travel ;  and  although  it  holds  a  more  conspicuous 
position  in  the  social  life  of  a  savage,  it  is  also  found  in  the  bye-lanes  of 
civilisation. 

The  reader,  who  may  have  been  mystified  about  its  meaning,  will  per- 
haps understand  what  it  is,  when  I  tell  him  that  the  obeah-inan  of  the 
West  Indies  is  simply  the  counterpart  of  the  "  medicine  man"  of  the 
North  American  Indians,  the  "  piuche"  of  the  South,  the  "  rain  maker"  of 
the  Cape,  the  "  fetish  man"  of  the  Guinea  coast,  and  known  by  as  many 
other  titles  as  there  are  tribes  of  uncivilised  men 

It  is  the  first  dawning  of  religion  on  the  soul  of  the  savage  ;  but  even  when 
its  malignant  spirit  has  become  changed  to  a  purer  aspiration  after  eter- 
nal life,  it  still  lingers  amidst  the  hauuts  of  ignorance,  its  original  form 
almost  unaltered — witchcrrft. 


THB    MYAL-MAN.  13 

To  the  statement  before  made — that  on  every  laige  plantation  (here 
Wa*  an  obeah-man — the  estate  of  Mount  Welcome  was  no  exception.  It, 
too,  was  blessed,  or  rather  cursed,  by  a  follower  of  the  art,  an  old  Coro- 
mantee  negro — Chakra  by  name — a  man  whose  fell  and  ferocious  aspect 
could  not  have  failed  to  make  him  one  of  the  most  popular  of  its  practi  • 
turners  ;  and  such,  to  his  misfortune,  had  he  become. 

He  had  long  been  suspected  of  having  poisoned  the  former  owner  of 
the  estate,  who  had  made  an  abrupt  and  mysterious  exit  from  the  world 
His  fate,  however,  was  not  much  lamented,  as  he  bore  the  reputation  of 
being  a  cruel  slave-master.  The  present  proprietor  had  least  reason  to 
regret  it :  since  it  gave  him  possession  of  an  estate  he  had  long  coveted. 

It  was  more  chagrin  to  him,  that  since  entering  upon  the  enjoyment 
of  the  property,  several  of  his  most  valuable  slaves  had  terminated  their 
existence  suddenly,  and  in  a  manner  which  could  only  be  accounted  for 
by  the  supposition  that  Obi  had  had  a  finger  in  their  fate. 

Chakra,  the  myal-man,  was  suspected  of  causing  their  deaths,  arraigned 
and  brought  to  trial. 

The  judges  were  three— three  justices  of  the  neighbourhood— for  that 
number  was  sufficient  to  pass  the  death-sentence  upon  a  slave.  The 
president  of  the  court  was  the  man's  own  master,  Loftus  Vaughan,  Esq., 
proprietor  of  Mount  Welcome,  and  custos  rotulorum  of  the  precinct. 

The  substance  of  the  crime  charged  against  Chakra  was  "  practising 
the  arts  of  Obi."  The  charge  had  no  reference  to  the  death  of  the  for- 
mer master  of  Mount  Welcome  ;  but  to  those  of  the  slaves  that  had  oc- 
curred more  recently  upon  the  estate,  as  also  upon  the  plantations  of  the 
other  two  justices  who  officiated  at  the  trial. 

The  proofs  were  not  very  clear  ;  but  were  deemed  sufficiently  so  by  the 
court  to  warrant  a  conviction.  , 

Strange  to  say  that  of  the  three  justices,  the  man's  own  master — the 
president  of  the  court — appeared  the  most  anxious  to  bring  the  trial  to 
this  termination.  So  anxious  indeed,  that  he  used  every  effort  to  over- 
rule the  opinions  of  the  other  two  ;  his  superior  position  giving  Him  a 
certain  power  of  controling  the  decision.  One  of  them  had  actually  pro- 
nounced himself  in  favour  of  an  acquital ;  but  after  a  whispering  con- 
sultation  with  the  custos,  he  suddenly  retracted  hii  former  opinion,  and 
gave  his  vote  for  the  verdict. 

There  was  a  rumor  at  the  time,  that  Loftus  Vaughan,  in  this  trial,  was 
actuated  by  meaner  motives,  than  either  a  stern  love  of  justice,  or  the 
desire  to  put  down  the  practise  of  Obi.  There  was  a  whisper  abroad  of  | 
some  secrete — family  secrets  with  which  the  Coromantee  had  become 
acquainted — some  strange  transaction,  of  which  he  was  the  sole  living 
witness  ;  and  of  such  a  character,  that  even  the  testimony  of  a  negro 
would  have  been  an  inconvenience ;  and  it  was  suspected  that  this  and 
not  obeah-ism  was  the  crime  for  which  Chakra  had  to  answer  with  hia 
life.  The  rumour,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  may  have  been  a  scandal — a 
•lander.  Whether  or  not,  the  Coromantee  was  condemned  to  die.  The 
trial  was  not  more  irregular  than  the  mode  of  execution,  decreed  for  the 
wretched  criminal.  He  was  to  be  talren  to  the  top  of  the  Jumbe  rock, 
chained  to  the  palm  tree,  and  there  left  to  perish !  It  may  be  asked  why 
this  singular  mode  of  execution  was  selected  ?  Why  wai  he  not  hung 


14  LOFTtTS   VAUGHAN,   ESQTJIRB. 

upon  the  scaffold,  or  burnt  at  the  stake — a  custom  not  unusual 
damned  criminals  of  his  class  ? 

The  answer  is  easy.  As  already  stated,  at  this  particular  period 
much  unpleasant  feeling  prevailed  on  the  subject  of  obeah-ism.  In  al- 
most every  district  mysterious  deaths  had  occurred,  and  were  occurring 
— not  only  of  black  slaves,  but  of  white  masters,  and  even  mistresses — 
all  attributed  to  the  baneful  influence  of  Obi. 

The  African  demon  was  ubiquitous,  but  invisible.  Everywhere  could 
be  witnessed  his  skeleton  hand  upon  the  wall,  but  newhere  himself.  It 
had  become  necessary  to  make  a  conspicuous  example  of  his  worship- 
pers. The  voice  of  all  planterdom  called  for  it ;  and  the  myal-man, 
Chakra,  was  selected  for  that  example,  in  the  belief  that  his  fearful  fate 
would  terrify  the  votaries  of  the  vile  superstition  to  their  very  hearts' 
core. 

The  Jumbe  rock  suggested  itself  as  the  most  appropriate  place  for  to* 
execution  of  the  Cororaantee.  The  terrors  with  which  the  place  was  al 
remdy  invested— added  to  those  now  to  be  inspired  by  the  fearful  form 
of  punishment  of  which  it  was  to  be  the  scene — must  exert  a  oeneficial 
effect  on  the  superstitious  understandings  of  the  slaves,  arid  for  ever  de- 
stroy their  belief  in  Obeah  and  Obboney.  With  this  design  was  the 
myal-mari  escorted  up  to  the  summit  of  the  Jumbe  rock ;  and  like  a  mod- 
ern Prometheus,  chained  there.  No  guards  were  placed  over  him — none 
were  required  to  stay  near  the  spot.  His  chains,  and  the  terror  inspired 
by  the  act,  were  deemed  sufficient  to  prevent  any  interference  with  hia 
fate.  In  a  few  days,  thirst  and  hunger,  aided  by  the  vultures,  would 
perform  the  final  and  fatal  ceremony — as  surely  as  the  rope  of  the  hang- 
man, or  the  axe  of  the  executioner. 

It  was  long  before  Loftus  Vaughan  ascended  the  mountain  to  ascertain 
the  fate  of  the  unfortunate  negro,  his  ci-devant  slave.  When,  stimulated 
by  curiosity — and,  perhaps,  a  motive  still  stronger — he  at  length, accom- 
panied by  his  overseer,  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Jumbe  rock,  his  hopes 
and  expectations  were  alike  confirmed.  A  skeleton,  picked  clean  by  the 
John  crows,  hung  suspended  to  the  stem  of  the  tree  1 

A  rusty  chain,  turned  around  the  bones,  kept  the  skeleton  in  place  ; 
though  the  fore-arms  had  become  disconnected  at  the  elbow  joints,  and 
would  have  fallen  but  for  the  support  thus  afforded. 

Loftus  Vaughan  had  no  inclination  to  dwell  long  upon  the  spot  To 
him  the  sight  was  fearful.  One  glance,  and  he  hurried  away ;  but  far 
more  fearful— far  more  terrifying — was  that  which  he  saw,  or  fancied  he 
»aw,  in  passing  homeward  down  the  forest  path — either  the  ghost  of  th$ 
nejsu,-man;.  or  the  man  himself! 

CHAPTER  IH. 

LOFTUS   VAUGHAN,  ESQUIRE. 

LOFTUS  VAUGHAN  was  a  widower,  as  generally  supposed,  with  hut  one 
child — a  daughter.  Kate  was  the  name  of  this  young  lady,  ac  least,  it 
was  the  name  she  bore  among  her  friends  and  acquaintances'.  Another 
iwne  might  occasionally  be  heard—"  lily  Quashoba,"  T^  only  on  &$ 


LOFTU8   VAUGHAN   ESQUIRE.  15 

lips  of  some  of  the  older  negroes  of  the  estate,  and  never  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Vaughan — who  had  sternly  forbidden  it  to  be  pronounced. 

There  were  doubts  of  the  young  girl  having  ever  received  either  of 
theee  names  at  the  baptismal  font :  partly  arising  from  the  circumstanct 
that  none  of  Mr.  Vaughan's  friends  had  witnessed  the  ceremony,  and 
partly  from  a  general  knowledge  of  the  fact,  that  the  mother  of  Mr. 
Vaughan's  daughter  had  been  a  »1<M — the  slave  Qaasheba. 

Hence  originated  the  alias — hence  the  doubts  as  to  the  performance 
of  the  baptismal  rites,  and  hence,  too,  other  doubts  of  Mr.  Vaughan'i 
being — according  to  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term — a  widower. 

It  was  certain,  nevertheless,  that  the  slave  Quasaeba  was  dead — dead 
long  ago.  She  died  on  that  same  day  just  eighteen  years  ago,  when  the 
"  lily  Quasheba"  first  saw  the  light.  This  was  a  circumstance  known  to 
everybody  on  the  estate  old  enough  to  have  remembered  it. 

It  was  not  known  to  every  body — though  one  knew  it — that,  rfrevious 
to  the  appearance  of  "  lily  Quasheba,"  in  fact  previous  to  Mr.  Vaughan's 
coming  into  possession  of  Mount  Welcome  and  its  human  chattels — there 
had  been  a  "  lily  Cubina  "  from  the  same  mother ;  a  boy,  notwithstanding 
the  feminal  orthography  of  the  name.  It  was  known  to  the  same  indivi- 
dual that  this  child  was  darker  than  its  mother,  the  quadroon  Quasheba. 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  this  last  circumstance.  The  presump- 
tion is,  that  its  father  was  either  himself  a  quadroon  or  a  mulatto.  In 
the  former  case  the  child  would  be,  according  to  the  nice  distinction  of 
race  observed  in  Spanish  America — a  quadroon  of  the  kind  called  tcntt 
en  el  airc  (suspended  in  the  air) ;  by  the  latter  supposition  it  would  be  a 
"  Sambo" — salto  atras — that  is,  instead  of  being  white  by  its  paternity, 
it  would  exhibit  a  retrogression  towards  the  negro. 

Whether  the  father  of  this  child  was  mulatto  or  quadroon,  or  whether 
its  complexion  was  darker  than  that  of  the  mother,  was  only  known  to 
one  individual  upon  the  plantation  of  Mount  Welcome — and  that  one 
was  not  Mr.  Vaughan  himself.  It  was  several  years  after  its  birth,  that 
this  gentleman  became  proprietor  of  the  estate,  and  owner  of  the  slave 
Quasheba. 

Equally  ignorant  was  he,  that  the  beautiful  quadroon—who  had  won 
his  heart,  become  sole  mistress  of  his  affections,  and,  afterwards,  mother 
of  his  child — had  ever  erred  in  this  fashion — had  ever  been  pressed  in 
\ho  arms  of  another,  and  that  other  a  mulatto — like  herself,  a  slave. 
When  Mr.  Vaughan  became  lord  and  master  of  the  slave  Quasheba,  there 
was  no  evidence  of  this  damning  fact — no  "  lily  Cubina  "  to  call  ker 
mother— for  the  boy,  almost  upon  the  instant  of  his  birth,  had  mysteri- 
ously disappeared. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  Mr.  Vaughan  had  he  remained  in  happj 
ignorance  of  these  hideous  truths.  Better  for  Chakra  had  he  kept  them 
to  himself:  for  it  was  the  myal-man  who  knew. 

Tfc*»  crime  of  the  quadroon  mother — even  her  double  error — must  b« 
looked  tfpon  with  a  lenient  eye.  It  was  not  just  to  judge  her  by  the 
standard  of  other  lands  and  other  times,  and  pronounce  her  too  flippant 
ly  one  of  the  fallen.  She  only  followed  the  fashion — the  universal 
fashion—- of  the  time  and  of  the  place  ;  and  that  was  often  proved  too 
powerful  for  the  moat  virtu«ufl  principle.  If  tbOFS  w?is  guijt  in 


16  LOFTUS   VAUGHAN,   ESQITIBB. 

duct  surely  it  is  the  white  man  who  deserves  reprehension,  since  he  H 
is  who  established  the  custom  by  which  she  fell. 

As  tc  the  history  of  Mr.  Vaughan  himself,  it  differed  but  little  from 
that  of  hundreds  who  have  made  Jamaica  their  home  ;  nor  was  the 
amount  of  his  criminality  in  this  connection  greater  than  might  be 
charged  against  most  of  his  fellow-planters  of  the  time.  Originally  only 
»  needy  adventurer — the  son  of  an  English  provincial  shopkeeper — he 
had  come  out  to  Jamaica  in  the  capacity  of  "  book-keeper ;"  in  other 
words,  he  had  been  brought  out  by  an  old  friend  of  his  father,  not  to 
keep  books,  but  merely  to  form  one  of  that  curious  staff  of  idle  "  dum- 
mies "  to  be  seen  on  every  extensive  estate,  and  whose  presence  there 
is  explained  by  an  insular  law — which  compel*  the  planter  to  have  a 
resident  white  man  for  every  fifty  slaves  upon  his  domain. 

The  shopkeeper's  son,  however,  did  not  long  remain  a  book-keeper. 
Being  of  an  active  and  aspiring  turn,  he  soon  rose  to  the  rank  of  own- 
seer,  and  at  the  death  of  his  patron  was  appointed  "  attorney"  of  the 
estate — a  Jamaica  phrase  of  no  legal  signification,  but  meaning  simply 
manager,  or  agent.  The  natural  desire  of  a  Jamaica  attorney,  like  that 
of  his  litigious  homonyme,  is  to  accumulate  riches — usually  by  the 
easiest  and  most  unscrupulous  method.  To  this  rule  the  d-devcutit  book- 
keeper did  not  prove  an  exception  ;  and,  after  a  few  years  spent  in  the 
management  of  his  deceased  patron's  estate,  he  became  wealthy  enough 
to  purchase  a  plantation  for  himself — a  splendid  one,  too — Mount  Wel- 
come. Notwithstanding  the  rapidity  with  which  his  fortune  had  been 
made,  he  had  preserved  his  reputation  from  the  charge  of  any  conside- 
rable embezzlement.  Nothing  was  alleged  against  him  farther  than  the 
legitimate  six  per  cent.,  and  such  other  trifling  peculia  as  are  considered 
only  fair  game  among  Jamaica  attorneys.  Indeed,  one  of  those  who  does 
not,  in  a  few  years,  swallow  up  the  total  property  of  his  employer — es- 
pecially where  that  employer  chances  to  be  a  trustee,  and  the  trust  held 
for  a  miiwr — is  a  r ara  avia  in  the  island,  and  esteemed  a  remarkably  honest 
man. 

Such  a  man  was  Loftus  Vaughan ;  and  not  only  had  he  given  satisfac- 
tion in  the  management  of  his  former  patron's  estate,  but  the  minor,  for 
whom  he  had  managed  it,  and  who  was  now  of  age,  had  implored  him  to 
continue  his  stewardship. 

As  for  Mr.  Vaughan,  he  no  longer  stood  in  need  of  patronage.  Mount 
Welcome,  unencumbered,  was  his  own  property ;  and  this  was  one  of  the 
finest  estates  in  the  island,  quite  equal  to  that  of  which  he  still  continued 
the  management. 

Mr.  Vaughan  had  risen  in  rank  in  proportion  as  he  had  prospered  in 
riches.  First  a  vestry-man  of  the  parish,  afterwards  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  he  was,  at  the  period  when  our  story  commence* — and  had  been 
sometime  before — chief-magistrate  of  the  district,  with  the  title,  "  Gustos 
rotulorum."  Surely,  this  was  dignity  sufficient  for  the  soc  af  » provin- 
cial shopkeeper  1 

The  domestic  relations  of  Mr.  Vaughan  had  been  of  a  less  respectable 
ciiiivacter  ;  at  least,  they  would  appear  so  to  the  mind  of  an  European. 
But,  iu  those  days,  the  social  circle  of  Jamaica  was  superlatively  tolerant  j 
•fid  but  }ij^6j  if  indeed  anys  account  was  made  of  guch  a  relationship  as 


LOFTUS    VAUGHAN   E8QUIBX.  1 

that  which  existed  between  him  and  the  slave-quadroon.  Bo  iur>£  js  the 
quadroon  had  been  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  temporary  wife,  there  was 
not  the  slightest  scandal.  On  the  other  hand,  had  Mr.  Vaughan  rendered 
the  connection  permanent,  by  a  marriage — which  elsewhere  might  have 
been  to  his  credit—he  would  have  been  at  once  tabooed,  and  rigorousljr 
excluded  from  society. 

Indeed,  at  one  time,  he  came  near  being  the  victim  of  such  a  social 
exclusion :  a  report  having  got  abroad  that  he  had  privately  married  hi* 
Blare  1 

It  waa  not  true  in  fact ;  but,  to  do  him  justice  it  was  so  in  intention, 
both  to  have  married  and  manumitted  her. 

This  laudaole  design  he  had  procrastinated  from  time  to  time — until 
death  stepped  in,  and  placed  the  act  beyond  his  power. 

Then,  more  than  ever,  did  he  feel  regret  for  his  negligence — more 
than  regret — remorse. 

Moreover,  this  negligence  had  left  his  offspring  illegitimate ;  in  Jamaica, 
at  that  time,  a  phrase  of  peculiar  significance,  and  far  more  comprehen- 
sive than  elsewhere. 

Had  the  mother  been  white,  it  would  have  signified  less.  The  daugh- 
ter would  still  have  been  illegitimate  ;  but  she  could  have  inherited  her 
father's  property  by  testamentary  disposition.  Not  so  the  "lilly 
Quasheba."  No  will  that  her  father  could  devise  would  make  Kate 
Vaughan  the  heiress  of  his  estate  !  She  was  a  mustee  (quinteroon  some- 
times called),  and  therefore  still  one  remove  from  being  free  of  the  negro 
disabilities.  The  cruel  statute  of  1762  applied  to  her  case.  Beyond 
£2,000  currency  she  could  not  inherit  even  by  will.  All  the  rest  of  her 
father's  property  must  go  to  the  heir-at-law — the  nearest  of  his  own  kin. 
Loving  his  daughter  as  he  did,  and  determined  on  making  her  his 
heiress,  this  would  have  been  a  terrible  dilemma,  had  there  been  no  way 
of  escaping  from  it.  Fortunately  there  was,  and  Mr.  Vaughan  well  knew 
it  The  same  assembly  that  had  passed  the  flagitious  statute  had  also 
provided  a  means  by  which,  in  certain  exceptional  cases,  it  could  be 
avoided :  that  is,  a  man  of  great  wealth  and  influence  might  be  favoured 
by  a  special  act. 

As  Loftus  Vaughan  was  just  such  a  man,  he  of  course  knew  he  could 
procure  the  act  at  any  time,  and  fully  intended  doing  so ;  but  the  same 
spirit  of  procrastination  that  had  withheld  him  from  performing  his  duty 
toward  the  mother,  was  again  the  cause  of  his  neglecting  that  which  he 
owed  to  the  child — her  child  and  his.  To  procure  the  special  statute 
would  require  him  to  make  a  journey  to  the  capital — perhaps  a  lengthen- 
ed sojourn  there — the  solicitation  of  assembly  men,  and  much  worry  and 
expense.  The  prospect  of  all  these  troubles  caused  him  from  time  to 
lime  to  delay  the  execution  of  his  project ;  and,  although  he  had  never 
for  a  moment  entertained  a  thought  of  abandoning  it,  still  did  it  remain 
unperformed. 

In  this  condition  were  his  family  affairs  at  the  period  our  narrative 
commences.  "  Lilly  Quasheba,"  though  gifted  with  every  natural  charm, 
educated,  accomplished,  and  refined — in  short  a  lady — was  still  tin 
daughter  of  a  slave  1 


18  A  JAMAICA   DEJEUNEB. 

CHAPTER  IT 

A    JAMAICA    DEJEUNEB. 

OH  a  tranquil  morning  in  the  fair  month  of  May — fair  in  Jamaica,  as  el«<y 
where  on  the  earth — a  large  bell  ringing  in  the  great  hall  of  Mount  Wei- 
como  announced  the  hour  of  breakfast.  As  yet  there  were  110  gnesti 
around  the  table,  nor  in  the  hall — only  the  black  and  coloured  domestics, 

who,  to  the  number  of  half  a  dozen,  had  just  come  up  from  the  kitcnen 

vith  trays  and  dishes  containing  the  viands  that  composed  the  meal. 

With  one  exception,  these  servants — all  boys  or  young  men — were 
habited  hi  the  scantest  costumes — coarse  osnaburg  trousers,  and  striped 
cotton  shirts,  being  all  they  wore.  The  exception  to  this  rule  was  a  burly 
and  pompous  black  man,  with  trim  shining  whiskers,  who,  in  authoritative 
voice  and  gesture,  directed  the  movements  of  the  others.  The  full  suit 
of  livery  which  he  wore  betokened  him  the  butler  of  the  establishment 
— who,  like  all  others  of  his  elevated  rank,  insisted  upon  prompt  obedi- 
ence from  his  subordinates. 

Though  but  two  chairs,  were  placed  by  the  table — and  the  disposition 
of  the  plates,  knives,  and  forks  indicated  that  it  had  been  set  for  only 
that  number  of  guests — the  profusion  of  dishes,  thickly  covering  the 
snow-white  damask  cloth,  might  have  led  one  to  suppose  that  a  large 
party  was  expected. 

It  was  emphatically  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette.  There  were  cutlet* 
plain,  and  vrith  sauce  piquante,  cavished  fish,  entrees  of  devilled  fowl  and 
duck,  broiled  salmon,  and  the  like.  These  were  placed  around  the  table, 
while  a  cold  ham  on  one  dish,  and  a  tongue  ditto  on  another,  occupied 
the  centre.  Of  "  bread  kind,"  there  were  mealy  yams — some  mashed 
with  milk  and  butter,  and  dished  up  in  shapes — roast  plantains,  hot  rolls, 
toast,  cassada  cakes,  and  sweet  potatoes.  But  that  a  splendid  silver  tea 
service,  and  a  large  glittering  urn  were  conspicuous  on  the  table,  the 
spread  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  dinner,  rather  than  the  matutinal 
meal.  The  hour — nine  o'clock  A.  M. — also  precluded  the  idea  of  its  being 
dinner.  Whoever  were  to  be  the  guests  at  this  table,  it  was  intended 
they  should  fare  sumptuously.  So  did  they  every  day  of  their  lives  ;  for 
there  was  nothing  occasional  in  that  morning's  meal.  Both  the  style  and 
the  profuseness  were  of  diurnal  occurrence.  Soon  after  the  tones  of  the 
bell  had  ceased  to  vibrate  through  the  hall,  they  for  whom  the  summons 
was  intended,  made  their  appearance — entering  from  opposite  sides,  not 
together,  but  one  coming  in  a  little  after  the  other. 

The  first  was  a  gentleman  of  somewhat  over  middle  age  and  height,  of 
%  hale  complexion,  and  full,  portly  form. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  nankeens,  jacket  and  trousers,  both  ot 
ample  make,  the  former  open  in  front,  and  displaying  a  shirt  bosom  ef 
finest  white  linen,  the  broad  plaits  of  which  were  uncovered  by  any  vest. 
A  wide  turn-down  collar  was  folded  back,  exhibiting  a  full  development 
of  throat — which,  with  the  broad  jaws  of  ruddy  hue,  appeared  clean  and 
freshly  shaven. 

From  a  fob  in  the  waistband  of  his  trousers  hung  a  massive  gold  chain, 
with  ft  bunch  of  seals  and  watch  keys  at  one  end ;  while  at  the  other 


A  JAMAICA   DEJEUNER.  19 

was  an  immense  chronometer  watch  of  the  old-fashioned  "  guinea,  gold/1 
with  white  dial,  upon  which  the  black  figures  were  conspicuously  pauit- 
ed.  The  watch  itself  could  be*  seen ;  as,  on  entering,  the  wearer  had 
drawn  it  out  of  its  fob  with  a  view  of  ascertaining  whether  his  servants 
were  punctual  to  the  minute :  for  the  gentleman  in  question — who  was 
no  other  than  Loftus  Vaughan,  Esq. — was  a  very  martinet  in  such  mat 
ters. 

After  casting  a  scrutinising  glance  at  the  display  of  viands,  and  ap 
parently  satisfied  with  what  he  saw,  the  master  of  Mount  Welcome  seated 
himself  before  the  table,  his  face  beaming  with  a  smile  of  pleasant  an 
ticipation. 

He  had  scarce  taken  his  seat  when  a  fair  apparition  appeared  entering 
from  the  further  end  of  the  hall — a  young  virgin-like  creature,  looking  aa 
fresh  and  rosy  as  the  first  rays  of  the  Aurora. 

She  was  habited  in  a  dress,  or  rather  an  undress,  of  purest  white  ;  a 
morning  wrapper  of  fine  lawn,  that,  fitting  closely  behind,  displayed  the 
waving  contour  of  her  back.  In  front,  however,  the  dress  fell  in  loose 
folds,  scarce,  however,  concealing  the  full,  bold  outline  of  her  bosom ; 
and  thence  draped  gracefully  downward,  so  as  to  leave  nothing  visible 
but  the  tips  of  a  pair  of  tiny  satin  slippers,  alternately  showing  them- 
selves like  white  mice,  as  she  glided  over  the  polished  surface  of  the 
floor. 

Her  throat,  full  and  finely  rounded,  was  encircled  with  a  string  of  ami>er 
beads  ;  and  a  crimson  blossom — the  beautiful  flower  of  the  Quamoclit — 
glittered  amidst  the  ample  folds  of  her  hair.  This,  of  a  rich  chestnut 
colour,  was  parted  on  the  forehead,  and  carried  in  a  curving  sweep  over 
cheeks  that  rivalled  the  radiance  of  the  rose. 

It  would  have  required  an  experienced  eye,  one  well  acquainted  with 
the  physiological  characteristics  of  race,  to  have  told  that  that  young 
girl  was  not  of  the  purest  Caucasian  blood.  And  yet  the  slight  undu- 
lation of  the  hair ;  a  rotund  rather  than  an  oval  face ;  eyes  of  darkest 
umber,  with  a  light  gleaming  perpetually  in  the  pupils — a  singular  pic- 
ture-like expression  in  the  colouring  of  the  cheeks — were  all  characteris- 
tics, that  proclaimed  the  presence  of  the  sang  melee. 

Slight  indeed  was  the  taint,  and  it  seems  like  profanation  to  employ  the 
phrase,  when  speaking  of  a  creature  so  beautifully  fair — for  beautifully 
fair  was  the  daughter  of  Loftus  Vaughan. 

This,  then,  was  the  "  lilly  Quasheba,"  the  child  of  the  erring  and  ill 
starred  quadroon.  "Little"  was  no  longer  an  appropriate  word  for  one 
just  stepping  over  the  threshold  of  womanhood,  and  whose  large,  finely- 
developed  form  created  in  the  mind  of  the  beholder  an  impression  of 
the  majestic  rather  than  the  diminutive. 

On  entering  the  hall,  the  young  girl  did  not  proceed  directly  to  seat 
herself  ;  but,  gliding  behind  the  chair  occupied  by  her  father,  she  flung 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  imprinted  a  Kiss  upon  his  forehead.  Ifc 
was  her  usual  matutinal  salute  ;  and  proved  that  on  that  morning  they 
had  met  for  the  first  time.  Not  that  it  was  the  first  appearance  of  either: 
for  both  had  been  much  earlier  abroad — up  with  the  sun,  indeed,  as  ia 
the  universal  custom  in  Jamaica.  Mr.  Vaughan  had  entered  the  ball 
from  the  front  door,  and  the  Leghorn  hat  and  cane  carried  in  his 


20  TWO   LETTERS. 

told  that  hf>  had  been  out  for  a  walk — perhaps  to  inspect  the  labeuf 
going  on  at  the  "  works,"  or  ascertain  the  progress  made  in  his  extensive 
cane-fields.  Kate,  on  the  contrary,  might  have  been  seen  entering  th« 
house  some  half-hour  before,  in  riding  costume — hat,  habit,  and  whip- 
proving  that  her  morning  exercise  had  been  taken  on  horseback.  After 
saluting  her  father  as  described,  the  young  lady  took  her  seat  in  front  of 
the  great  urn,  and  commenced  performing  the  duties  of  the  tablo. 

In  this  she  was  assisted  by  a  girl  apparently  of  her  own  age,  but  of  far ! 
different  appearance.    Her  waiting-maid  it  was,  who,  having  entered  al 
the  same  time,  had  taken  her  station  behind  the  chair  of  her  mistress. 

There  was  something  strikingly  peculiar  in  the  aspect  of  this  young 
girl — as  well  in  her  figure  as  in  the  colour  of  her  skin.  She  was  of  that 
slender  classic  shape  which  we  find  in  antique  sculptures,  like  the  forms 
of  the  Hindoo  women  known  in  England  as  "  ayahs"  and  differing  alto- 
gether from  the  negro  outline.  Her  complexion,  too,  was  not  that  of  a 
negress — still  less  of  a  mulatto  or  quadroon.  It  was  an  admixture  of 
black  and  red,  resulting  in  a  clear  chestnut  or  mahogany  colour,  which, 
with  the  damask  tincture  upon  the  cheeks,  produced  an  impression  not 
unpleasing. 

Nor  were  the  features  at  all  of  a  negro  type.  On  the  contrary,  far  re- 
moved from  it  The  lips  were  thin,  the  face  oval,  and  the  nose  of  an 
aquiline  cast,  such  as  may  be  traced  on  Egyptian  sculptured  stones,  or 
such  as  might  yet  be  seen  in  living  forms  in  the  land  of  the  Arabs.  Her 
hair  was  not  woolly,  though  it  differed  altogether  from  the  hair  of  a 
European.  It  was  straight,  and  jet  black,  yet  scarcely  reaching  to  her 
shoulders.  Not  that  it  had  been  shortened  by  the  scissors,  for  it  appear- 
ed to  be  at  its  fullest  growth,  and,  hanging  loosely  over  her  ears,  it  im- 
parted a  youthful  appearance  to  the  brown-skinned  damseL 

She  was  far  from  ill-looking ;  and,  to  an  eye  accustomed  to  her  "  style," 
she  may  have  appeared  even  handsome.  Her  elegant  shape,  exposed  by 
the  extreme  scantiness  of  her  costume,  a  sleeveless  robe,  with  a  Madrat 
kerchief  worn  a  la  toque  upon  her  head ;  the  graceful  attitude,  which 
seemed  natural  to  her  either  when  in  motion  or  standing  poised  behind 
the  chair  of  her  mistress  ;  the  quick  glance  of  her  fine,  fiery  eye  ;  and  the 
pearl-like  whiteness  of  her  teeth,  all  contributed  to  make  up  a  picture 
that  was  far  from  common-place. 

This  young  girl  was  a  slave  — the  slave  Yola. 


CHAPTER    V. 

TWO  LKTTBB8. 

being  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  the  breakfast  table  had 
y  meed  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  entrance  door,  that,  with  the  jalousie* 
thiown  open,  the  fresh  air  might  be  more  freely  felt,  while  at  the  same 
time  a  view  could  be  obtained  of  the  landscape  outside.  A  splendid 
view  it  wan,  comprising  the  valley  from  end  to  end,  with  its  long  palm- 
fhftded  avtnue,  a  reach  of  the  Montego  river,  the  roofs  and  spires  of  th« 


TWO  LETTERS.  21 

town,  tlie  shipping  in  the  bay  and  roadside,  the  bay  itself,  and  the  blue 
Caribbean  beyond. 

Striking  as  waa  this  landscape,  Mr.  Vaughan  just  then  felt  no  inclina- 
tion to  look  upon  it.  He  was  too  busy  occupied  with  the  rich  viands 
upon  the  table  ;  and  when  he  did  find  time  to  glance  over  the  window- 
sill,  his  glance  extended  no  further  than  to  the  negro  "  gang"  at  work 
among  the  canes,  to  see  if  his  drivers  were  doing  their  duty. 

The  eyes  of  Miss  Vaughan  were  oftner  directed  to  the  outside  view. 
It  was  at  this  hour  that  one  of  Mr.  Vaughan's  servants  usually  returned 
from  Montego  Bay,  bringing  the  letters  from  the  post-office.  There  was 
nothing  in  her  manner  that  betrayed  any  inward  anxiety,  but  simply  that 
lively  interest  which  young  ladies  in  all  countries  feel  when  expecting 
the  postman — hoping  for  one  of  those  little  tetters  of  twelve  sheets  with 
closely  written  and  crossed  lines  most  difficult  to  decipher,  and  yet  to 
them  more  interesting  than  even  the  pages  of  the  newest  novel. 

The  landscape  without  appeared  to  possess  more  interest  for  the  girl 
Tola,  or  rather  was  it  the  water  that  lay  beyond.  Now  and  then,  when 
her  attendance  was  not  required  at  the  table,  her  eyes  wandered  to  the 
distant  sea  with  a  strange  dreamy  expression,  as  if  her  thoughts  were 
carried  away  over  the  wide  expanse  to  the  far  land  of  her  nativity — that 
African  home  from  which  she  had  been  forced  into  captivity,  and  sold  as 
a  slave. 

Whatever  impatience  Miss  Vaughan  may  have  felt  for  the  arrival  of 
the  post,  it  was  soon  to  be  appeased. 

Only  a  few  minutes  after  the  ringing  of  the  breakfast  bell,  a  dark 
object  in  the  avenue  proclaimed  the  approach  of  Quashie,  the  post-boy ; 
and  shortly  after,  an  imp-like  negro  lad  upon  the  back  of  a  rough  pony 
galloped  up  to  the  front  entrance  ;  and  flinging  his  bag  to  the  butler,  who 
had  met  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair,  turned  off  towards  the  stables. 
If  the  fair  Kate  expected  a  billet,  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 
There  were  only  two  letters  in  the  bag,  with  a  newspaper,  and  all  three 
were  for  Mr.  Vaughan  himself.  AU  bore  the  English  post-mark ;  and  the 
superscription  of  one  of  the  letters  was  by  him  at  once  recognised — a 
pleasant  smile  stealing  over  his  features  as  he  broke  open  the  seal.  A 
few  moments  sufficed  to  make  him  master  of  its  contents,  when  the  smile 
increased  to  a  look  of  vivid  gratification;  and,  rising  from  his  chair,  he 
naced  for  sometime  back  and  forward,  snapping  his  fingers,  and  eja- 
1  -nlating,  "  Good — good  !  I  thought  so  I" 

His  daughter  regarded  this  behaviour  with  surprise.  Gravity  was  her 
father's  habit,  at  times  amounting  to  austerity.  Such  an  exhibition  of 
guiety  was  rare  with  Loftus  Vaughan. 

"  Some  pleasing  news,  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  little  rogue ;  very." 

"May  I  not  hear  it?" 

"  Yes — no — no — not  yet  awhile." 

"  Oh,  papa  I  It  is  very  cruel  of  you  to  keep  it  from  me.  I  promi «e  I 
thall  share  your  joy." 

M  Ah !  you  will  when  you  hear  the  news — that  is,  if  you're  not  *  little 
•impleton,  Kate." 

"la  simpleton,  papa  ?  I  shall  not  be  called  so  if  to  be  joyful  is  all 
that's  needed  to  sparu  me  the  reproach." 


22  YWO  tT5TTER& 


"  Why,  you'd  be  a  simpleton  if  you  don't  bo  joyful  —  never  ramd,  child— 
TnJ  tell  you  all  about  it  by-uud-by.  Good,  good!"  continued  he,  Mill 
cracking  his  fingers  in  a  sort  of  ecstatic  frenzy.  "  I  thought  so  —  I  knew 
he  would  come." 

"  Ah  1  you  expect  some  one,  papa?" 

"  I  do.    Guess  who  it  is  1" 

"  How  could  I  ?  You  know  I  am  unacquainted  with  your  English 
friends,  and  I  see  the  letter  bears  an  English  post-mark.'* 

"  Not  with  their  names  ?  You  have  heard  their  names,  and  seen  let  tori 
from  some  of  them?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  often  hear  you  speak  of  one  —  Mr.  Smythie  —  a  very  odd 
name  it  is.  I  would'nt  be  called  Smythje  for  the  world. 

"  Ta,  ta,  child  1  Sraythje  is  a  very  pretty  name,  especially  with  Mon- 
tagu before  it.  Montagu  is  magnificent.  Besides,  Mr.  Smythje  is  the 
owner  of  Montagu  Castle." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  how  can  that  make  the  name  sound  any  better  T  Is  it  ho 
whom  you  expect  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear.  He  writes  to  say  that  he  will  come  by  the  next  ship  —  the 
Sea  Nymph  she  is  called.  She  was  to  sail  a  week  after  the  letter  was 
written,  so  that  we  may  look  out  for  his  arrival  in  a  few  days.  Gad  !  I 
must  prepare  for  him.  You  know  Montagu  Castle  is  out  of  repair.  He 
is  to  be  my  guest  ;  and,  hark  you,  Kate  1"  continued  the  planter,  once 
more  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and  bending  towards  his  daughter,  so 
that  biBjotto  voce  might  not  be  overheard  by  the  domestics,  "  you  must 
do  your  oest  to  entertain  this  young  stranger.  He  is  said  to  be  an  ac- 
complished gentleman,  and  I  know  he  is  a  rich  one.  It  is  to  my  interest 
to  be  friendly  with  him,"  added  Mr.  Vaughan,  in  a  still  lower  tone  of 
voice,  and  as  if  in  soliloquy,  but  loud  enough  for  his  daughter  to  hear 
what  he  said. 

"  Dear  papal"  was  the  reply,  "  how  could  I  be  otherwise  than  polite  to 
him  ?  If  only  for  your  sake*  -  " 

"  If  only  for  your  own"  said  the  father,  interrupting  her,  and  accom- 
panying the  remark  with  a  sly  look  and  laugh.  "  But,  dear  Kate,  con- 
tinued he,  "  we  shall  find  time  to  talk  of  this  again,  I  must  read  the 
other  letter.  Who  on  earth  can  it  be  from  ?  Egad  1  I  never  saw  the 
writing  before." 

The  announcement  of  the  projected  visit  of  Mr.  Montagu  S  my  tin  a 
irith  the  trumpet-like  flourish  of  his  many  accomplishments—  which 
Kate  Vaughan  had  not  now  listened  to  for  the  first  time—  appeared  to 
produce  in  the  heart  of  the  young  quinteroon  no  very  vivid  emotion  &  of 
pleasure—  at  least,  there  was  no  evidence  that  it  did  so.  She  had  re- 
ceived it  with  perfect  indifference,  not  seeming  to  care  much  one  way  or 
the  other.  If  there  was  a  balance,  it  was  rather  against  him  :  for  i  t  so 
chanced  that  much  of  what  she  had  heard  in  relation  to  this  gentleman 
was  not  at  all  calculated  to  prepossess  her  in  his  favour.  And  she  had 
ieard  a  good  deal  about  him,  both  from  her  father  and  her  father's  ac- 
quaintances :  for  the  lord  of  Montagu  Castle  was  often  the  topic  (it 
jrfter-dinner  talk. 

m  Jamaica,  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  was  only  known  by  repute  :   for 
during  all  the  yean  of  hU  minority  —  even  from  infancy  ~  h©  had  been  a 


TWO  LET^EES.  23 

feoident  of  London,  lie  was,  in  truth,  a  "  cockney/*  not  only  by  breed 
ing,  but  by  birth — for  he  was  not  the  son  of  the  deceased  proprietor  of 
Montagu  Castle,  but  only  his  nephew  and  heir. 

We  have  said  that  Kate  Vaughan  had  heard  nothing  of  this  youtg  man 
to  create  within  her  an  interest  in  her  favour,  but  rather  the  reverse. 
She  had  heard  that  he  was  an  exquisite — a  fop  in  fact — perhaps  of  all 
other  characters  the  one  most  repulsive  to  a  young  Creole  :  for,  notwith- 
standing the  natural  disposition  of  these  to  become  enamoured  of  fine 
personal  appearance,  it  must  be  accompanied  by  certain  qualities  of  mind 
if  not  of  the  highest  morality,  or  even  intellectuality,  yet  differing  alto- 
gether from  the  frivolous  accomplishments  of  mere  dandeyism. 

Nature,  that  inspires  the  Creole  girl  to  give  her  whole  heart  away,  and 
without  any  reserve,  has  also  taught  her  to  bestow  it  with  judgment.  In 
Btinct  warns  her  not  to  lay  her  precious  offering  upon  an  altar  unworthy 
•)f  the  sacrifice. 

There  was  another  circumstance  calculated  to  beget  within  the  heart 
of  Kate  Vaughan  a  certain  feeling  of  repulsion  towards  the  lord  of 
Montagu  Castle ;  and  that  was  the  conduct  of  her  own  father  in  regard 
to  this  matter.  From  time  to  time — when  speaking  of  Mr.  Montagu 
Smythje — he  had  made  use  of  certain  expressions  and  inuendoes,  which, 
though  uttered  in  ambiguous  language,  the  young  girl  very  easily  com- 
prehended. 

The  heart  of  woman  is  quick,  as  it  is  subtile,  in  the  anderstanding  of 
all  that  relates  to  the  disposal  of  itself ;  and  that  even  at  the  earliest  age 
of  maidenhood.  It  is  prone  to  repel  any  effort  that  may  be  made  to 
guide  it  from  its  natural  inclinations,  and  rob  it  of  its  /ight  to  choose. 

Mr.  Vaughan,  in  his  ignorance  of  these  rather  recondite  truths,  was 
erecting  a  barrier  to  his  own  designs,  all  the  while  he  fancied  he  was 
successfully  clearing  the  track  of  presumptive  obstructions,  and  making 
the  path  smooth  and  easy. 

At  match-making  Mr.  Vaughan  was  but  a  bungler :  for  it  was  evident 
that  match-making  was  in  his  mind. 

"  Never  saw  the  handwriting  before,"  said  he,  in  repetition,  as  he  broke 
open  the  seal  of  the  second  letter. 

If  the  contents  of  the  first  epistle  had  filled  him  with  joy,  those  of  the 
wvuond  produced  an  effect  directly  the  opposite. 

"  'Sdeath  1"  exclaimed  he,  crushing  the  letter,  as  he  finished  reading  it 
*nd  once  more  nervously  springing  to  his  feet.  "  Dead  or  living,  that  ill- 
•tarred  brother  of  mine  seems  as  if  born  to  be  a  curse  to  me  !  While 
alive,  always  wanting  money ;  and  now  that  he  is  dead  sending  his  son,  a 
never-do-well,  like  himself,  to  trouble,  and,  perhaps,  disgrace  me." 

"  Dear  father !"  said  the  young  girl,  startled  more  by  his  wild  demeanoi 
than  what  he  was  saying — for  the  words  were  muttered  in  a  low  voice, 
and  rather  in  soliloquy — "  has  the  other  letter  brought  unpleasant  news  ?* 

"  Ah  I  that  it  has.    You  may  read  for  yourself." 

And  once  more  seating  himself,  he  tossed  the  unwelcome  epistle  acrose 
the  (able,  and  re-commenced  eating  with  apparent  voracity — as  if  by  tiiiK 
moans  to  tranquillise  his  perturbea  spirit. 

Kate  took  up  the  rejected  letter,  and  smoothing  o~st  the  crumples  rai 
her  eyes  over  the  contents 


24  *OOB  FELLOW. 

The  perusal  did  not  require  much  time :  for,  considering  that  the  lettet 
had  made  such  a  long  journey,  its  contents  were  of  the  shortest : 

DEA.K  UNCLE,  London,  June  10,  18 — , 

I  have  to  announce  to  you  the  mel*acholy  intelligence  that  your  brother, 
my  dear  father,  is  no  more.     His  last  words  were,  that  I  should  go  over  to 

Jou ;  and,  acting  in  accordance  with  his  wish,  I  have  taken  passage  fot 
amaica.  The  ship  is  the  Sea  Nymph,  and  is  to  sail  upon  the  18th  instant, 
,1  do  not  know  how  long  we  shall  he  at  sea,  hut  I  hope  it  will  prove  a  abort 
'  voyage  :  as  my  poor  father's  effects  were  all  taken  by  the  sheriff's  officer,  and 
£  am  compelled,  for  want  of  money,  to  take  passage  in  the  tUerage,  which  I 
have  been  told  is  anything  hut  a  luxurious  mode  of  travelling.  But  I  am 
young  and  strong,  and  no  doubt  shall  be  able  to  endure  it.  Yours  affec- 
tionately, HBBBBBT  YAUOHAV. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

rOOB  FELLOW. 

WHATEVER  effect  the  reading  of  the  letter  may  have  had  upon  Kate 
Vaughan,  it  certainly  did  not  produce  indignation.  On  the  contrary,  an 
expression  of  sympathy  stole  over  her  face  as  she  mastered  the  contents 
of  the  epistle ;  and  on  finishing  it,  the  phrase  "  poor  fellow  I"  dropped  as 
if  involuntarily,  and  just  audibly,  from  her  lips.  Not  that  she  knew  any- 
thing of  Herbert  Vaughan,  more  than  the  name,  and  that  he  was  her 
cousin ;  but  the  word  cousin  has  an  attractive  sound,  especially  in  the  ears 
of  young  people,  equalling  in  interest — at  times  even  surpassing — that  of 
sister  or  brother.  Beyond  doubt,  the  affection  felt  for  a  blood  relation  is 
an  instinct  of  our  nature ;  and  though  it  may  at  times  be  outraged,  and  be- 
come an  antipathy — where  avarice,  or  some  other  passion,  gains  predomi- 
nance— the  antipathy  is  the  exception,  and  not  the  rule. 

In  the  case  of  Loftus  Vaughan,  worldly  ambition,  combined  with  ava- 
rice, had  usurped  the  dominion  of  his  heart,  and  destroyed  every  vestige 
of  fraternal  affection.  Under  the  influence  of  these  baneful  passions,  ho 
had  long  since  ceased  to  care  for  his  kin ;  and  even  the  paltry  sums  which 
from  time  to  time,  he  had  transmitted  to  his  less  fortunate  brother, 
had  been  wrung  from  him  by  repeated  and  earnest  solicitation,  and  given 
with  grudging  reluctance. 

There  were  no  such  passions  in  the  heart  of  his  daughter  to  misguicto 
Its  instincts,  and  mislead  them  out  of  their  true  channel ;  and  though  she 
r.ould  know  very  little  of  the  nature  of  the  relationship,  the  word 
"  cousin"  had  awakened  within  her  those  natural  instincts  of  endearment 
which  it  usually  calls  forth.  Herbert  Vaughan  was  the  only  one  who 
stood  to  her  in  this  relationship ;  and  indeed  with  the  exception  of  this 
young  man  and  her  own  father — now  that  that  father's  brcthei 
was  dead  — she  knew  of  no  other  relative  she  had  upon  earth.  Nei- 
ther her  mother,  nor  her  mother's  kindred,  had  ever  been  known  to 
her.  She  had  neither  brother  nor  sister ;  and  Herbert  Vaughan  was  uot 


POOR   FELLOW.  25 

only  hei  cousin,  but  her  only  cousin.  This  state  of  comparative  orphan- 
age may  have  strengthened  the  instinctive  tie  which  nature  pron  pted  her 
to  feel.  There  was  another  circumstance  calculated  to  exsrt  a  similar  in- 
fluence. Though  surrounded  by  every  luxury,  and  waited  on  by  troops 
of  slaves,  still  there  was  a  want ;  and  one  which  she  could  not  otherwise 
than  be  sensible  of. 

Her  father's  friends  were  all  dining  friends,  and  ah1  of  the  opposite  sex. 

Their  wives,  sisters,  and  daughters  were  rarely  ever  seen  at  Mount  Wei 

I  some  ;  and  when  by  chance  they  did  present  themselves,  their  behavioui 

f  proclaimed  that  they  were  there  as  the  friends  of  Mr.  Vaughan  rather  thar 

i/f  his  daughter.    Between  them  and  Miss  Vaughan  there  was  a  certain 

restraint—a  coldness  of  demeanour  on  their  part — which,  although  not 

ooservable  to   one  unacquainted  with  Jamaican  "  society,"  never tlioless 

existed. 

The  young  girl  knew  it  herself— though  ignorant  of  the  cause,  and  in 
her  innocent  simplicity  not  caring  to  inquire  into  it.  Happily  she  had 
never  been  told  of  the  taint  in  her  blood,  and  knew  not  that  there  was  a 
stigma  attached  to  the  appellation  of  "  lilly  Quasheba."  So  far  had  kind 
fortune  withheld  from  her  this  humiliating  knowledge. 

Still  was  she  conscious  of  a  certain  social  isolation — a  lack  of  real 
friends ;  and  this,  no  doubt,  contributed  to  impress  her  heart  as  it  had 
also  done  her  features,  with  a  character  of  self-possession  and  self-reli 
ance  but  little  corresponding  with  her  age. 

It  had  also  strengthened  the  ties  of  tenderness  which  attached  her  to 
her  father.  And  might  it  not  have  invested  with  a  certain  interest  the 
word  cousin  ? 

Whether  it  did,  or  whether  it  was  mere  childlike  compassion  for  mis- 
fortune, certain  it  is  that  Kate  Vaughan,  as  she  laid  aside  the  letter,  was 
heard  to  pronounce  the  phrase,  "  poor  fellow  !" 

Though  uttered,  as  we  have  said,  in  a  tone  almost  inaudible,  the  words 
reached  the  ears  of  her  father. 

"  Poor  fellow  1"  he  repeated,  turning  sharply  to  his  daughter,  and  re- 
garding her  with  a  glance  of  displeasure.  "  I  am  surprised,  Kate,  to 
near  you  speak  in  that  strain  of  one  who  has  done  nothing  to  deserve 
your  compassion.  An  idle,  good-for  nothing  fellow — just  as  his  father 
was  before  him.  And  only  to  think  of  it — coming  over  here  a  steerage 
passenger,  in  the  very  same  ship  with  Mr.  Montagu  Smythjel  'Sdealh  I 
What  a  disgrace !  Mr.  Smythje  will  be  certain  to  know  who  he  is—- 
though he  is  not  likely  to  associate  with  such  canaille.  He  cannot  fail 
to  notice  the  fellow,  however  ;  and.  when  he  sees  him  here,  will  be  sure 
to  remember  him.  Ah !  I  must  take  some  steps  to  prevent  that.  Poor 
fellow,  indeed  !  Yes,  poor  enough,  but  not  in  that  sense.  Like  his 
father,  I  suppose,  who  fiddled  his  life  away  among  paint-brushes  and 
palettes  instead  of  following  some  profitable  employment,  and  all  for  the 
gake  of  being  called  an  artist !  Poor  !  fiddlestick  ?  Bah  1  Don't  let  me 
hear  the  words  agajn !" 

And  as  Mr.  Vaughan  ended  his  ill-natured  harangue,  he  tore  the  wrap* 
per  off  the  newspaper,  and  endeavoured,  among  its  contents,  to  distaoet 
bis  mind  from  dwelling  longer  on  the  unpleasant  theme  of  the  epistle,  or 
him  who  had  written  it. 


26  TfllS  SLAVES. 


The  young  girl,  abashed  and  disconcerted  b}  the  uraisriAl  violence  of 
the  rebuke,  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  and  without  making  any  reply, 
The  red  colour  had  deepened  upon  her  cheeks,  and  mounted  to  herfore* 
head  ;  but,  notwithstanding  the  outrage  done  to  her  feelings,  it  was  easj 
to  see,  that  the  sympathy  she  had  expressed  for  her  poor  but  unknown 
cousin  was  felt  as  sensibly  as  ever. 

So  far  from  having  stifled  or  extinguished  it,  the  behaviour  of  her 

ather  was  more  likely  to  have  given  it  increase  and  strength  :  for  tl_* 

adage  of  the  "  stolen  waters  "  is  still  true  ;  and  the  forbidden  fruit  ia  ur 

tempting  now  as  upon  the  morning  of  creation.    As  it  was  in  the  begir 

ning,  BO  will  it  ever  be. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   SLAVER. 

A  HOT  West  Indian  sun  was  rap.  ily  declining  towards  the  Caribbean  Sea 
— as  if  hastening  to-cool  his  fieiy  orb  in  the  blue  water — when  a  ship, 
rounding  Pedro  Point,  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  stood  eastward  for  Mon- 
tego  Bay.  She  was  a  three-masted  vessel — a  barque — as  could  be  told 
by  the  lateen  rig  of  her  mizenmast — and  apparently  of  some  three  or  four 
hundred  tons  burden.  As  she  was  running  under  one  of  the  gentlest  of 
breezes,  all  her  canvas  was  spread  ;  and  the  weather-worn  appearance  of 
her  sails  denoted  that  she  was  making  land  at  the  termination  of  a  long 
ocean  voyage.  This  was  further  manifest  by  th/  faded  paint  upon  her 
sides,  and  the  dark,  dirt-coloured  blotches  that  marked  the  position  of 
her  hawse-holes  and  scuppers. 

Besides  the  private  ensign  that  streamed,  pennon-like,  Irom  her  peak, 
another  trailed  over  her  taffrail ;  which,  unfolded  by  the  motion  of  the 
vessel,  displayed  a  blue  starry  field  with  white  and  crimson  stripes.  In 
this  case  the  flag  was  appropriate,  both  in  its  stripes  and  their  colour. 
Though  proudly  vaunted  as  the  flag  of  the  free,  here  was  it  covering  a 
cargo  of  slaves  :  the  ship  was  a  slaver. 

After  getting  fairly  inside  the  bay,  but  still  at  a  Jong  distance  from  the 
town,  she  was  observed  suddenly  to  tack ;  and,  instead  of  continuing  on 
towards  the  harbour,  made  for  a  point  on  the  southern  side,  where  tho 
shore  was  uninhabited  and  solitary. 

On  arriving  within  a  mile  of  the  land  she  took  in  sai],  until  every  inch 
of  canvas  was  furled  upon  her  yards.  Then  the  shnrp  rattling  of  the 
chain,  as  it  dragged  through  the  iron  ring  of  the  hawse-hole,  announced 
the  dropping  of  her  anchor.  A  few  moments  after  the  vessel  swung 
round,  and,  drifting  till  the  chain  cable  became  taut,  lay  motionless  upon 
the  water. 

The  object  for  which  the  slaver  had  thus  anchored  short  of  the  har- 
bour will  be  learnt  by  our  going  aboard  of  her — though  this  was  a 
privilege  not  granted  to  the  idle  or  curious  :  only  the  initiated  were  per- 
mitted  to  witness  the  spectacle  of  which  her  decks  now  became  tha 
thettre :  only  such  as  had  an  interest  in  the  disposal  of  her  cargo. 


TfiE   SLAVEit.  27 

Viewed  from  a  distance,  the  slaver  lay  apparently  inert;  but  lot  a!" 
that  a  scene  of  active  life  was  passing  upon  her  deck — a  scene  of  rare 
and  painful  interest.  The  barque  carried  a  cargo  of  two  hundred  human 
beiLgs — "  bales,"  according  to  the  phraseology  of  the  slave-trader.  These 
bales  were  not  exactly  alike.  It  was,  as  her  skipper  jocularly  styled  it, 
an  "assorted  cargo" — that  is,  one  shipped  on  different  points  of  the 
African  coast,  and,  consequently,  embracing  many  distinct  varieties  of 
the  Ethiopian  race.  There  was  the  tawny,  but  intelligent  Mandingo, 
und  by  his  side  the  Jolof  of  ebon  hue ;  there  the  fierce  and  warlike 
Coromantee,  alongside  the  docile  and  submissive  Pawpaw  ;  the  yellow 
Ebc,  with  the  visage  of  a  baboon,  wretched  and  desponding,  face  to  fac« 
with  the  cannibal  Moco,  or  chained  wrist  to  wrist  with  the  light-hearted 
native  of  Congo  and  Angola. 

None,  however,  appeared  of  light  heart  on  board  the  slaver.  The  hor- 
rors of  the  "  middle  passage  "  had  equally  affected  all ;  until  the  dancing 
Congeee,  and  the  Lucumi,  prone  to  suicide,  seemed  equally  to  suffer  from 
dejection.  The  bright  picture  that  now  presented  itself  before  their  eyes 
— a  landscape  gleaming  with  all  the  gay  colours  of  tropical  vegetation — 
was  viewed  by  them  with  very  different  emotions.  Some  seemed  to  re- 
gard it  with  indifference  ;  others  it  reminded  of  their  own  African  homes, 
from  which  they  had  been  dragged  by  rude  and  ruffian  men  ;  while  not 
a  few  gazed  upon  the  scene  with  feelings  of  keen  apprehension — believ- 
ing it  to  be  the  dreaded  Kocmi,  the  land  of  the  gigantic  cannibals — and 
that  they  had  been  brought  thither  to  be  eaten  ! 

Reflection  might  have  .convinced  them  that  this  would  scarcely  be  the 
intention  of  Tdbon-doo — those  white  tyrants  who  had  carried  them  across 
the  ocean.  The  hard,  unhusked  rice,  and  coarse  maize  corn — their  only 
food  during  the  voyage — were  not  vi&nJs  likely  to  fatten  them  for  the 
feast  of  Anthropophagi ;  and  their  once  smooth  and  shining  skins  now 
exhibited  a  dry,  shrivelled  appearance,  from  the  surface  coating  of  dand- 
ruff, and  the  scars  of  the  hideous  era-era. 

The  blacks  among  them,  by  the  hardships  of  that  fearful  voyage,  ha:! 
turned  ashen-grey,  and  the  yellows  of  a  sickly  and  bilious  hue.  Males 
and  females — for  there  were  many  of  the  lattei — appeared  to  have  been 
alike  the  objects  of  ill-usage,  the  victims  of  a  starved  stomach  and  a 
stifled  atmosphere. 

Some  half  a  dozen  of  the  latter — seen  in  the  precincts  of  the  cabin  — 
presented  a  different  aspect.  These  were  young  girls,  picked  from  the 
common  crowd  on  account  of  the  superiority  of  their  personal  charms  ; 
End  the  flaunting  vestments  that  adorned  their  bodies — contrasting  with 
Ihe  complete  nudity  of  their  fellow-voyagers — told  too  plainly  why  they 
had  been  thus  distinguished.  A  horrid  contrast — wantonness  in  the 
midst  of  woe  ? 

On  the  quarter-deck  stood  the  slave-skipper — a  tall,  lathy  individual  of 
callow  hue — and,  beside  him,  his  mate — a  dark-bearded  ruffian  ;  while  ? 
score  of  like  stamp,  but  lower  grade,  acting  under  their  orders,  were  di* 
tributed  in  different  parts  of  the  ship. 

These  last,  as  they  tramped  to  and  fro  over  the  deck,  might  be  heard 
it  intervals  giving  utterance  to  pn  fane  oaths,  as  often  laying  violeul 


AND    J 

nancls  upon  one  of  their  unfortunate  captives,  apparently  out  A  tiie 
sheer  wantonness  of  cruelty. 

Immediately  after  the  anchor  had  been  dropped,  and  the  ropes  belayed 
and  coiled  in  their  places,  a  new  scene  of  this  disgusting  drama  W:IF 
entered  upon.  The  living  "  bales,"  hitherto  restrained  below,  were  now 
ordered,  or  rather  driven,  upon  deck — not  all  at  once,  but  in  lots  of  three 
or  four  at  a  time.  Each  individual,  as  he  came  up  the  hatchway,  v  it 
rudely  seized  by  a  sailor,  who  stood  by  with  a  soft  brush  in  his  hand  ji'itl 
a  pail  at  his  feet ;  the  latter  containing  a  black  composition  of  gunpowder, 
lemon-juice,  and  palm-oil.  Of  this  mixture  the  unresisting  captive  re- 
ceived a  coating,  which,  by  the  hand  of  another  sailor,  was  rubbed  into 
the  skin,  and  then  polished  with  a  "  danbybrush,"  until  the  sable  epider- 
mis glistened  like  a  newly-blacked  boot 

A  strange  operation  it  might  have  appeared  to  those  who  saw  it,  had 
they  not  been  initiated  into  its  object  and  meaning.  But  to  the  spectiv- 
tors  there  present  it  was  no  uncommon  sight.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
those  unfeeling  men  had  assisted  at  the  spectacle  of  a  slaver's  cargo  being 
made  ready  for  market ' 

One  after  another  were  the  dark-skinned  victims  of  human  cupidity 
brought  from  below,  and  submitted  to  this  demoniac  anointment — to 
which  one  and  all  yielded  with  an  appearance  of  patient  resignation,  like 
sheep  under  the  hands  of  the  shearer.  In  the  looks  of  many  of  them 
could  be  detected  the  traces  of  that  apprehension  felt  in  the  first  hours 
of  their  captivity,  and  which  had  not  yet  forsaken  them.  Might  not  this 
process  be  a  prelude  to  some  fearful  sacrifice  ?  Even  the  females  were 
not  exempted  from  this  disgusting  desecration  of  God's  image  ;  and  one 
after  another  were  passed  through  the  hands  of  the  operators,  with  an 
accompaniment  of  brutal  jests,  and  peals  of  ribald  laughter  1 


CHAPTER  VHL 

JOWLER  AND   JESSUROX. 

ALMOST  on  the  same  intant  that  the  slave-barque  had  dropped  anchor,  a 
email  boat  shot  out  from  the  silent  shore ;  which,  as  soon  as  it  had  got 
I  fairly  out  into  the  water,  could  be  seen  to  be  steering  in  the  direction  rf 
the  newly-anchored  vessel. 

There  were  three  men  in  the  boat,  two  of  whom  were  plying  the  oara. 
These  were  both  black  men — naked,  with  the  exception  of  dirty  unite 
trousers  covering  their  limbs,  and  coarse  palm-leaf  hats  upon  their 
heads. 

The  third  occupant  of  the  skiff — for  such  was  the  character  of  the  boat 
— was  a  white,  or  more  properly,  a  wliitisU  man.  He  was  seated  in  the 
etern-sheets,  with  a  tiller-rope  in  each  hand  ;  and  steering  the  craft — as 
his  elbows  a-kimbo,  and  the  occasional  motion  of  his  arms  testified.  He 
bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  oarsmen,  either  in  the  colour  of 
his  skin,  or  the  costume  that  covered  it.  Indeed,  it  would  not  have  beec 
faay  to  hav«  found  his  counterpart  anywhere  either  on  land  or  at  ee* 


JOWLEB   AND   JESSUBON.  29 

At  the  first  glance  an  entire  stranger  would  have  pronounced  him  a  char 
acter;  and  those  who  knew  him  more  intimately  did  not  hesitate  to  call 
him  a  queer  character.  He  appeared, to  be  about  sixty  years  old — ha 
might  have  been  more  or  less — and  had  once  been  white  ;  but  long  ex- 
posure to  a  West  Indian  sun,  combined  with  the  numerous  dirt-filled 
creases  and  furrows  in  his  skin,  had  darkened  his  complexion  to  the  hue 
of  leaf  tobacco.  His  features,  naturally  of  an  angalar  shape,  had  become 
so  narrowed  and  sharpened  by  age  as  to  leave  scarce  anything  in  front ; 
and  to  get  a  v'sv?  of  his  face  it  was  necessary  to  step  to  one  side  and 
ecan  it  en  we,jlte.  Thus  viewed,  there  was  breadth  enough,  and  features  of 
t*»a  xaoat  prominent  character — including  a  nose  like  the  claw  of  a  lobster 

-a  sharp,  projecting  chin — with  a  deep  ernbayment  between,  marking 
•ne  locality  of  the  lips  :  the  outline  of  all  suggesting  a  great  resemblance 
to  the  profile  of  a  parrot,  but  still  greater  to  that  of  a  Jew — for  such,  in 
reality,  was  its  type.  When  the  mouth  was  opened  in  a  smile — a  rare  oc- 
currence, however — only  two  teeth  could  be  detected  within,  standing 
far  apart,  like  two  sentinels  guarding  the  approach  to  the  dark  entrance 
within.  This  singular  countenance  was  lighted  up  by  a  pair  of  black 
watery  orbs,  that  glistened  like  the  eyes  of  an  otter  ;  and  eternally  glis- 
tened, except  when  then:  owner  was  asleep — a  condition  in  which  it  was 
said  he  was  rarely  or  never  caught. 

The  natural  blackness  of  his  eyes  was  rendered  deeper  by  contrast 
with  long  white  eyebrows  running  more  than  half  way  around  them,  and 
meeting  over  the  narrow  ridge  of  the  nose.  Hair  upon  the  head  there 
was  none — that  is,  none  was  visible — a  skull-cap  of  whitish  cotton-stuff 
covering  the  whole  crown,  and  coming  down  over  both  ears.  Over  this 
was  a  white  beaver  hat,  whose  worn  nap  and  broken  edges  spoke  of  long 
service. 

A  pair  of  large  green  goggles,  resting  on  the  humped  bridge  of  his 
nose,  protected  his  eyes  from  the  sun  ;  though  they  might  perhaps  have 
been  worn  for  another  purpose — to  conceal  the  viUanous  expression  of 
the  eyes  that  sparkled  beneath  them. 

A  sky-blue  cloth  coat,  whitened  by  long  wear,  with  metal  buttons,  once 
Wight,  now  changed  to  the  hue  of  bronze  ;  small-clothes  of  buff  kersey- 
mere glistening  with  grease,  long  stockings ;  and  tarnished  top-boots, 
made  up  the  costume  of  this  unique  individual.  A  large  blue  cotton  um- 
brella rested  across  his  knees :  as  both  hands  were  occupied  in  steering 
the  skiff. 

The  portrait  here  given — or,  perhaps,  it  should  be  styled  profile — is 
that  of  Jacob  Jessuron,  the  slave-merchant ;  an  Israelite  of  the  Portuguese 
breed,  but  one  in  whom  it  would  not  be  truth  to  say — there  was  "  no 
guile."  The  two  oarsmen  were  simply  his  slaves.  The  little  craft  had 
put  out  from  the  shore—from  a  secluded  spot  at  a  distance  from  the  town, 
but  still  within  view  of  it.  It  was  evidently  rowed  at  its  best  speed.  In- 
deed,  the  steersman  appeared  to  be  urging  his  blacks  to  the  exertion  of 
their  utmost  strength  :  as  though  for  some  reason  he  wished  to  arrive  on 
board  at  the  very  earliest  moment  possible. 

Moreover,  from  time  to  time,  he  was  seen  to  twist  his  body  naif  round 
and  look  towards  the  town — as  though  he  expected  or  dreaded  to  see  a 
rival  boat  coming  from  that  quarter,  arid  was  deaixous  to  reach  the  barque 
tbead  of  her. 


80  THE    FOOLAH    PKINOE. 

If  soch  was  hii  design,  it  proved  successful.  Although  his  little  gldfi 
was  a  considerable  time  in  traversing  the  distance  from  shore  to  ship — « 
distance  of  at  least  a  mile — he  arrived  at  the  point  of  his  destination  with- 
out any  other  boat  making  its  appearance. 

"  Sheep  ahoy  I"  shouted  he,  as  the  skiff  was  pulled  up  under  the  lar 
board  quarter  of  the  barque. 
"  Ay,  ay  I"  responded  a  voice  from  above. 
"  Ish  that  Captain  Showier  I  hearsh  ?" 

?  "  Hilloo  1  who's  there  ?"  interrogated  some  one  on  the  quarter-deck ;  and 
f  the  moment  after,  the  sallow  face  of  Captain  Aminidab  Jowler  presented 
••  itself  at  the  gangway. 

"  Ah  1  Mister  Jessuron,  that  you,  eh  ?  Determined  to  have  fust  peep  at 
my  blackeys  ?  Well  1  fust  kim,  fust  served  ;  that's  my  rule.  Glad  to  see 
you,  old  fellow.  How  d'  deo  ?" 

"  Fusht-rate  1 — fusht-rate  1  I  hopsh  you're  the  shame  yourshelf,  Captin 
Showier.  How  ish  you  for  cargo  ?" 

"  Fine,  old  boy  1  Got  a  prime  lot  this  time,  A1J  sizes,  colours,  and  sexet 
too  ;  ha !  ha !  You  can  pick  and  choose  to  suit  yourself,  I  reckon.  Come 
climb  aboard,  and  squint  your  eye  over  'em  1" 

The  slave  merchant,  thus  invited,  caught  hold  of  the  rope  ladder  let 
down  for  his  accommodation ;  and,  scrambling  up  the  ship's  side  with 
the  agility  of  an  old  ape,  stepped  upon  the  deck  of  the  slaver.  After 
some  moments  spent  in  hand-shaking  and  other  forms  of  gratnlation — 
proving  that  the  trader  and  merchant  were  old  friends,  and  as  thick  as 
two  thieves  could  possibly  be — the  latter  fixed  the  goggles  more  firmly 
on  the  ridge  of  his  nose,  and  commenced  his  inspection  of  the  "  cargo." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THB  POOIAH  PBINOK. 

ON  the  quarter-deck  of  the  slaver,  and  near  the  "companion, '  stood  a  man 
of  unique  appearance — differing,  not  only  from  the  whites  who  composed 
the  crew,  but  also  from  the  blacks  and  browns  who  constituted  the  cargo. 
His  costume,  attitude,  and  some  other  trivial  circumstances,  proclaimed 
him  as  belonging  neither  to  one  nor  the  other.  He  had  just  stepped  ^p 
from  the  cabin,  and  was  lingering  upon  the  quarter-deck. 

Having  the  entree  of  the  first,  and  the  privilege  of  remaining  upon  the 
second,  he  could  not  be  one  of  the  "  bales  "  of  this  human  merchandise  ,• 
and  yet  both  costume  and  complexion  forbade  the  supposition  that  he 
was  of  the  slaver's  crew.  Both  denoted  an  African  origin,  though  his 
features  were  not  of  a  marked  African  type.  Rather  were  they  Asiatic, 
or,  more  correctly,  Arabian ;  but,  in  some  respects,  differing  also  from 
Arab  features.  In  truth,  they  were  more  nearly  European ;  but  the  com- 
plexion again  negatived  the  idea  that  the  individual  in  question  belonged 
to  any  of  the  nationalities  of  Europe.  His  hue  was  that  of  a  light  Floren- 
tine bronze,  with  a  tinge  of  chestnut. 

He  appeared  to  be  about  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  ago  ;  tall,  and 
well  proportioned,  and  possessed  the  following  characteristics  : — A  fine 
arched  eyebrow,  spanning  an  eye  full  and  rotund;  a  nose  slightlj 


THE    FOOLAH    PRINCE. 

aquiline  ;  thin,  well-modelled  lips ;  white  teeth — whiter  from  contract 
with  the  dark  shading  011  the  upper  Jp — and  over  all  an  ample  chevelwt 
of  jet-black  hair,  slightly  curling,  but  not  at  all  woolly. 

In  nothing  did  he  differ  more  from  the  dark-skinned  helots  of  the  hold 
than  in  his  costume.  While  none  of  these  had  any  clothing  upon  their 
bodies,  or  next  to  none,  he,  on  the  contrary,  was  splendidly  apparelled- - 
his  face,  throat,  arms,  and  limbs,  from  the  knee  to  the  ankle,  being  the 
jnly  parts  not  covered  by  a  garment.  A  sort  of  sleeveless  tunic  of  yel- 
1  .ow  satin,  with  a  skirt  that  just  reached  below  his  knees,  was  bound 
around  his  waist  by  a  scarf  of  crimson  China  crape,  the  ends  of  which, 
hanging  still  lower,  were  adorned  with  a  fringe  work  of  gold.  Over  the 
left  shoulder  rested  loosely  another  scarf  of  blue  burnous  cloth,  conceal- 
ing the  arm  over  which  it  hung  ;  while  half  hidden  beneath  its  draping 
could  be  perceived  a  scimitar  in  its  richly-chased  scabbard,  and  with  a 
hilt  of  carved  ivory.  A  turban  on  the  head,  and  sandals  of  Kordofan 
leather  upon  the  feet,  completed  his  costume. 

Notwithstanding  the  Asiatic  character  of  the  dress,  and  the  resemblance 
of  tke  wearer  to  those  East  Indians  known  as  Lascars,  he  was  a  true 
African* — though  not  of  that  typo  which  we  usually  associate  with  the 
word,  and  which  suggests  a  certain  negroism  of  features.  He  was  one  of 
a  people  entirely  distinct  from  the  negro — the  great  nation  of  the  Foolaha 
(Fellattas) — that  race  of  shepherd  warriors  whose  country  extends  from 
the  confines  of  Darfur  to  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic — the  lords  of  Sockatoo 
and  Timbuctoo — these  fanatic  followers  of  the  false  prophet  who  conspir- 
ed the  death  of  Laing,  and  murdered  Mungo  Park  upon  the  Quorra.  Of 
such  race  was  the  individual  who  stood  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  slaver. 
He  was  not  alone.  Three  or  four  others  were  around  him,  who  also  dif- 
fered from  the  wretched  creatures  in  the  hold.  But  their  dress  of  more 
common  material,  as  well  as  other  circumstances,  told  that  they  were  his 
inferiors  in  rank — in  short,  his  attendants.  The  humble  mien  with  which 
they  regarded  him,  and  the  watchful  attention  to  his  every  look  and  ges- 
ture,  proclaimed  the  habitual  obedience  to  which  they  were  accustomed  ; 
while  the  turbans  which  they  wore,  and  their  mode  of  salutation — the 
salaam — told  of  an  obeisance  Oriental  and  slavish. 

To  the  richness  of  this  young  man's  attire  was  added  a  certain  haughti- 
ness of  mien,  that  proclaimed  him  a  person  of  rank — perhaps  the  chief- 
tain  of  some  African  tribe. 

And  such,  in  reality,  he  was — a  Foolah  prince,  from  the  banks  of  the 
Senegal. 

There,  neither  his  presence  or  appearance  would  have  attracted  more 
than  passing  observation  ;  but  here,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  on 
board  a  slave-ship,  both  required  explanation. 

It  was  evident  he  was  not  in  the  same  category  with  his  unfortunate 
countrymen  "  between  decks" — doomed  to  perpetual  captivity.  There 
were  no  signa  that  he  had  been  treated  as  a  captive,  but  the  contrary. 

How,  then,  was  his  presence  on  board  the  slave  barque  to  be  account- 
ed for  ?  Was  he  a  passenger  ?  or  in  what  relationship  did  he  stand  to 
the  people  that  surrounded  him  ? 

Of  such  a  character,  though  differently  worded,  were  the  interrogatories 
fcut  by  the  slave  merchant,  as,  returning  from  the  fore-deck,  after  com- 
pleting his  inspection  of  the  cargo,  his  eyes  for  once  fell  upon  Uie  young 
Fellatta, 


32  THE   FOOLAH    PRINCE. 

"  Blesh  my  shtars,  Captain  Showier  I"  cried  he,  holding  up  both  hand*, 
and  looking  with  astonishment  at  the  turbaned  individuals  on  the  quar- 
ter-deck. "  Blesh  my  ehtars  !"  he  repeated  ;  "  what  ish  all  thish  V  S'help 
My  Gott  1  theesh  fellows  are  not  shlaves,  are  they  ?" 

"  No,  Mister  Jessuron,  no  ;  they  ain't  slaves,  not  all  on  'em  aint.  That 
'ere  fine  fellow,  in  silk  and  satin,  air  a  owner  o'  slaves  hisself.  That  ero'i 
a  prince."  f 

"  What  dosh  you  say,  Captain  Showier  ?  a  prince  ?" 

"  Ye  aint  'stonished  at  that,  air  ye  ?  'Taint  the  fust  time  I've  had  ov 
African  prince  for  a  passenger.  This  yeer's  his  Royal  Highnejs  the  f 
Prince  Cingues,  son  o'  the  Grand  Sultan  of  Footatoro.  The  other  fellows 
you  see  thar  by  him  are  his  attendants — courteers  as  waits  on  him.  That 
with  the  yellow  turban's  'gold  stick  ;'  him  in  blue's  '  silver  stick  /  an' 
t'other  fellow's  '  groom  o'  the  chamber,'  I  s'pose." 

"  Sultan  of  Foota-toro  1"  exclaimed  the  slave  merchant,  still  holding  up 
tlie  blue  umbrella  in  surprise  ;  "  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islandsh !  Aha,  a 
good  shoke,  Captain  Showier  1  But,  serious,  mine  friend,  what  for  hash 
you  tricked  them  out  in  thish  way  ?  Won't  fetch  a  joey  more  in  the 
market  for  all  theesh  fine  feathers." 

"  Seems,  Mister  Jessuron,  they're  not  for  the  market.  I  sw'ar  to  ye  the 
fellur's  a  real  Afrikin  prince." 

"African  fiddleshtickl"  echoed  the  slave  merchant,  with  an  incredulous 
shrug.  "  Come,  worthy  cap  tin,  what'sh  the  mashquerade  about?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  that,  ole  fellur !  'Sure  ye  the  nigger's  a  prince,  and  my 
passenger — nothing  more  or  less." 

"  S'help  you  Gott  ish  it  so  ?" 

"  So  help  me  that  1"  emphatically  replied  the  skipper.  "  It's  just  as  1  Ve 
told  ye,  Mister  Jessuron." 

"  Blesh  my  soul  1 — a  passenger,  you  shay  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  he's  paid  his  passage,  too — Like  a  prince,  as  he  is." 

"  But  what's  hish  business  here  in  Shamaica  ?" 

"Ahl  that's  altogether  a  kewrious  story,  Mister  Jessuron.  You'll 
hardly  guess  his  bizness,  I  reckon?" 

"  Lesh  hear  it,  friend  Showier." 

"  Well,  then,  the  story  air  this  :  'Bout  twelve  months  ago  an  army  o' 
Mandingoes  attacked  the  town  of  old  Foota-toro,  and,  'mong  other  plunder, 
carried  off  one  o'  his  daughters — own  sister  to  the  young  fellur  you  see 
there.  They  sold  her  to  a  West  India  trader,  who,  of  course,  brought  the 
girl  over  here  to  some  o1  the  islands ;  which  one  ain't  known.  Old  Foota- 
toro,  like  the  rest  o'  'em,  thinks  the  slaves  are  ah1  fetched  to  one  place ; 
and,  as  he's  half  besides  himself  'bout  the  loss  of  this  gurl  — «he  war  nis 
favourite,  and  a  sort  o'  a  court  belle  among  'em — he's  sent  the  brother  to 
search  her  out,  and  get  her  back  from  whoever  hez  purchased  her  on  thif 
side.  There's  the  hul  story  for  you." 

The  expression  that  had  been  gathering  on  the  countenance  of  the  Jew, 
while  this  relation  was  being  made  to  him,  indicated  something  more  than 
a  common  interest  in  the  tale — something  beyond  mere  curiosity — at  tha 
same  time  ho  seemed  as  if  trying  to  conceal  any  outward  sign  of  emotion, 
oy  preserving,  as  much  as  possible,  the  rigidity  of  his  features." 

"  Blesh  my  soul  I"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  skipper  had  concluded.  "  Ash 
I  live,  a  wonderful  sthory  I  But  how  ish  he  ever  to  find  hish  sister  ?  H« 
&ight  ash  well  look  for  a  needle  in  a  ha^-shtack." 


THE  FOOLAH  FBIKOB.  S3 

*  Wai,  that's  true  enough,"  replied  the  slave  skipper.  "  As  for  that," 
added  he,  with  an  air  of  stoical  indifference  ;  "  tain't  no  business  o'  mine. 
My  affair  was  to  carry  the  young  fellur  acrost  the  Atlantic,  as'  I'm  willin1 
to  take  him  back  on  the  same  terms,  and  at  the  same  price,  if  he  kin  pay 

"  Did  he  pay  you  a  goodsh  price  ?"  inquired  the  Jew,  with  evident  anx- 
fety  as  to  the  answer. 

"  He  paid  like  a  prince,  as  I've  told  vou.  D'ye  see  that  batch  o'  yellow 
Mandingoes  by  the  windlass  yonder  ? 

"Yesh— yesh." 

"Forty  there  air— all  told." 

"Well?" 

"  Twenty  on  'em  I'm  to  have  for  fetchin*  him  across.  Cheap  enough, 
ain't  it?" 

"  Dirt  cheap,  friend  Showier.    The  other  twenty?" 

"  They  are  his'n.  He's  brought  'em  with  him  to  swop  for  the  sister, 
when  he  finds  her." 

"  Ah,  yesh  1  if  he  finds  the  girl." 

"  In  coorse,  if  he  finds  her." 

"  Ach  1"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  with  a  significant  shrug  of  his  shoulders ; 
"  that  will  not  be  an  easy  bishness,  Captin  Showier." 


etru< 

findin' 

pilot  him ;  you  know  everybody  in  the  island,  I  reckon.    No  tfoubt  he 

will  pay  you  well  for  your  trouble.    I'm  anxious  he  should  succeed.    Old 

Foota-toro  is  one  of  my  best  sources  of  supply ;  and  if  the  girl  could  b« 

found  and  taken  back,  I  know  he  would  do  the  handsome  to  me  on  my 

next  trip  to  the  coast." 

"  Weft,  worthy  captin,  I  don't  know  that  there's  any  hope,  and  won't 
hold  out  any  to  hish  royal  highnesh,  the  prince.  I'm  not  as  able  to  get 
about  ash  I  ushed  to  was ;  but  I'll  do  my  besht  for  you.  As  you  shay,  I 
might  do  something  towardsh  putting  him  in  the  way.  Well,  we'll  talk  it 
over ;  but  let  ush  first  settle  our  other  bishness,  or  all  the  world  wUl  be 
aboard.  Twenty,  you  shay,  are  his  ?" 

"  Twenty  of  them  'ere  Mandingoes." 

"  Hash  he  anything  besides  2" 

"  In  cash  ?  no,  not  a  red  cent.  Men  and  women  are  the  dollars  of  his 
country.  He  hes  the  four  attendants,  you  see.  They  air  ,his  slaves  like 
the  others." 

*  "  Twenty-four,  then,  in  all.  Blesh  my  soul  I  What  a  lucky  fellow  ish 
tin's  prince.  Maybe  I  can  do  something  for  him ;  but  we  can  talk  it  over 
in  the  cabin,  and  I'm  ready  for  something  to  drink,  worthy  Showier." 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  he,  as,  on  turning  round,  he  perceived  the  group  oi 
girls  before  mentioned.  "  Blesh  my  soul  1  Some  likely  wenches.  Just 
the  sort  for  chambermaids,"  added  he,  with  a  villanously  significant  look. 
"  How  many  of  that  kind  hash  you  got,  my  good  Showier  ?" 

"  About  a  dozen,"  jocularly  responded  the  skipper ;  "  some  splendid 
breeders  among  'em,  if  you  want  any  for  that  bizness." 

"  I  may — '1  may.  Gad  I  it's  a  valuable  cargo — one  thing  with  another  I 
Well,  lot  ush  go  below,"  adde4  fce»  tanung  towards  the 


34  A   HANDSOME   OFFER. 

*  What's  in  your  locker  ?  I  inusht  have  a  drink  before  I  can  do  bfchneM 
Likely  wenches!  Gad — a  valuable  cargo  I1 

Smacking  his  lips,  and  snapping  his  fingers  as  he  talked,  the  old  repro- 
bate descended  the  companion  stairway — the  captain  of  the  slaver  follow 
ing  close  behind  him. 

We  know  not,  except  by  implication,  the  details  of  the  bargaining  that 
look  place  below.  The  negotiation  was  a  secret  one — as  became  ule  na- 
ture of  any  transaction  between  two  such  characters  as  a  slave-dealer  and 

slave-stealer. 

It  resulted,  however,  in  the  purchase  of  the  whole  cargo,  and  in  so 
-.ihort  a  time,  that  just  as  the  sun  sunk  into  the  sea,  the  gig,  cuttei,  and 
long-boat  of  the  slaver  were  lowered  into  Uiu  water  ;  and,  under  the  dark- 
ness of  night,  the  "  bales"  were  transported  n>  the  shore,  and  landed  in 
the  little  cove  whence  the  skiff  of  the  slave  Merchant  had  put  out. 

Amongst  them  were  the  twenty  Man;Lngoes,  the  attendants  of  the 
prince,  and  the  "  wenches,"  designed  for  improving  the  breed  on  Je.s.suron's 
plantation  :  for  the  slave  merchant  was  also  a  land  proprietor  and  planter. 

The  skiff  was  seen  returning  to  the  shore,  a  cable's-length  in  tiio  wake 
of  the  other  boats.  Now,  however,  a  fourth  personage  appeared  in  it, 
seated  in  the  stern,  face  to  face  with  the  owner.  The  gaily-coloured  cos- 
tume, even  in  the  darkness,  shining  over  the  calm,  shadowy  surface  of  the 
sea,  rendered  it  easy  to  recognise  this  individual  as  the  Foolah  prince. 
The  Jew  and  the  .Moslem — the  wolf  and  the  lamb — were  sailing  in  the 
tame  boat. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    HANDSOME   OFFER. 

On  the  day  after  the  slaver  had  landed  her  cargo,  and  at  a  very  early 
hour  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Vaughan,  looking  from  the  front  window  of  his 
house,  perceived  a  strange  horseman  approaching  by  the  long  avenue. 

As  the  stranger  drew  nearer,  his  horse  appeared  gradually  to  trans 
form  himself  into  a  mule  ;  and  the  rider  was  seen  to  be  an  old  gentleman 
in  a  blue  coat,  with  metal  buttons,  and  ample  outside  pockets — under 
which  were  breeches  and  top-boots,  both  sullied  by  long  wear.  A  dam* 
aged  brown  beaver  hat  upon  his  head,  with  the  edge  of  a  white  cottor. 
nightcap  showing  beneath  it ;  green  goggles  upon  the  nose  ;  and  a  large 
blue  umbrella,  instead  of  a  whip,  grasped  in  the  right  hand,  enabled  Mr 
Taughan  to  identify  one  of  his  nearest  neighbours,  the  penn-keepo? 
Jessuron,  who,  among  other  live  stock,  was  also  known  as  an  extensive 
apeculator  in  slaves. 

"The  Jew?"  muttered  Mr.  Vaughan,  as  soon  as  the  sharp  features  of 
the  Israelite  were  recognised.  "  What  can  he  want  at  this  early  hour  1 
Bome  slave  stock  for  sale,  I  suppose.  That  looked  like  a  trader  I  saw 
yesterday  in  the  offing,  and  he's  sure  to  have  the  first  lot.  Well,  ha 
won't  find  a  market  here.  Fortunately,  I'm  stocked.  Morning,  Mr 
Jbftsuron  1"  continued  ke,  hailing  his  visitor  from  the  too  of  tUe  stairway 
*  A&  usual,  you  are  earlv  abroad.  Bi^iiiess,  fcl}  ?" 


A  HANDSOME  OFFEB.  33 

*  Ach,  yesh,  Mishter  VDchan !  Bislniess  must  be  minded.  A.  poor 
•aarish  like  me  can't  afford  to  shleep  late  theesh  hard  times !" 

"Hal  ha!  Poor  man,  indeed!  That's  a  good  joke,  Mr.  Jessuronl 
CSorne,  alight!  Have  you  breakfasted  ?" 

"  Yesh,  thanks,  Mister  Vochan.    I  always  breakfasht  at  six." 

"  Oh,  that  is  early !    A  glass  of  swizzle,  then  ?" 

"  Thanks,  Mishter  Vochan ;  I  will.  A  glash  of  shwizzell  will  be  bettei 
•e  i  anything  else.  Itsh  warm  thish  mornings." 

The  swizzle,  a  mixture  of  rum,  sugar,  water,  and  lime-juice,  was  found 
in  a  large  punch-bowl  that  stood  upon  the  sideboard,  with  a  silver  tagjfcie 
resting  across  the  rim,  and  glasses  set  around  it.  This  is  a  standing 
drink  in  the  dwelling  of  a  Jamaica  planter — a  fountain  that  never  gets 
dry,  or  always  renewed  when  exhausted. 

Stepping  up  to  the  sideboard,  where  he  was  attended  to  by  the  butler, 
the  penn-keeper  briskly  quaffed  off  a  tumbler  of  the  swizzle ;  and  thoflL 
smacking  his  lips,  and  adding  the  observation,  "  Tish  good,"  he  returned 
towards  the  window,  where  a  chair  had  been  placed  for  him  beside  that 
of  his  host. 

He  had  already  removed  his  beaver,  though  the  white  skull-cap — not 
over  clean,  by-the-bye — was  still  permitted  to  keep  its  place  upon  his 
head. 

Mr.  Vaughan  was  a  man  possessed  of  considerable  courtesy,  or,  at 
least,  an  affectation  of  it.  He  remained  silent,  therefore,  politely  waiting 
for  his  guest  to  initiate  the  conversation. 

"  Well,  Misbter  Vochan,"  began  the  Jew, "  I  hash  come  over  to  see  you 
on  a  shmall  bishness — a  very  shmall  bishness  it  is,  and  shcarcely  worth 
troubling  you  about." 

Here  the  Jew  hesitated,  as  if  to  put  some  proposition  into  shape. 

"  Some  black  stock  for  sale  ?  I  think  I've  heard  that  a  cargo  came  in 
yesterday.  You  got  part,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yesh,  yesh,  I  bought  a  shmall  lot,  a  very  shmall  lot.  I  had'nt  the 

monish  to  buy  more.  S'help  me !  the  shlaves  ish  getting  so  dear  ask 

I  can't  afford  to  buy.  This  talk  about  shtoppin'  the  trade  ish  like  to  ruin 
ush  all.  Don't  yoush  think  so,  Misher  Vochan  ?" 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  you  need'nt  fear.  If  the  British  Government  should 
pass  the  bill,  the  law  will  be  only  a  dead  letter.  They  could  never  guard 
the  whole  of  the  African  coast — no,  nor  that  of  Jamaica  neither.  I  think 
If r.  Jessuron,  you  would  stih1  contrive  to  land  a  few,  eh  ?" 

"  Ach,  no,  Mishter  Vochan !  dear,  oh  dear,  no  I  I  shouldn't  venture 
fc^ainsht  the  laws.  If  the  trade  ish  stop,  I  musht  give  up  the  bishness. 
Bhlaves  would  be  too  dear  for  a  poor  Jewish  man  like  me  to  deal  in  :  so 
•'liolp  mo !  they're  too  dear  ash  it  ish." 

"  Oh,  that'i  all  nonsense  about  their  getting  dearer  !  It's  very  well  for 
j ou  to  talk  so,  Mr.  Jessuron  ;  you  have  some  to  sell,  I  presume  ?" 

"  Not  now,  Mishter  Vochan,  not  now.  Posshible  I  may  have  a  shrnall 
lot  in  a  day  or  two,  but  joosht  now  I  haven't  a  shingle  head  ready  for  the 
market.  Thish  morning  I  want  to  buy,  instead  of  shell." 

"  To  buy  !     From  me,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yesh,  Mishter  Vochan,  if  you're  disposed  to  shell." 

¥  Come,  that's  something  new,  neighbour  Jeesuron.     I  know  you'rf 


86  A  HAKDSOMB  OFFER. 

always  ready  for  a  trade  ;  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of  yoi 
ouying  off  a  plantation." 

"  Well,  the  truth  ish,  Mishter  Vochan,  I  have  a  cushtomer  who  wanta 
a  likely  wench  for  waiting  at  hish  table.  Theresh  none  among  my  shtock 
he  thinks  good  enough  for  hish  purposh ;  I  was  thipking  ycu  hash  got 
one,  if  you  could  shpare  her,  that  would  suit  him  niaaely." 

"  Which  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  youngsh  Foola  wench  ash  I  sold  you  lasht  year-  j  M«! 
after  crop  time." 

"  Oh  1  the  girl  Tola?" 

"  Yesh,  that  wosh  her  name.  Ash  you  had  her  dirt  sheep,  I  don't  UULI.  ' 
giving  you  shomethings  on  your  bargain — shay  ten  pounds  currenehy  ?* 

"  Poh,  poh,  poh  1"  replied  the  planter,  with  a  deprecating  shrug.  "  Tlia* 
would  never  do,  even  if  I  meant  to  sell  the  girl ;  but  I  have  no  wish  to 
part  with  her." 

"  Shay  twenty,  then  ?" 

"  Nor  twice  twenty,  neighbour.  I  would'nt,  under  any  circumstances, 
take  less  than  two  hundred  pounds  for  Tola.  She  has  turned  out  a  mo*l 
valuable  servant " 

"  Two  hunder  poundsh !"  interrupted  the  Jew,  starting  up  in  his  chair. 
"  Osh !  Mishter  Vochan,  theresh  not  a  black  wench  in  the  island  wortib 
half  the  monish.  Two  hunder  poundsh !  Blesu  my  soul,  that  ish  a  prishe  ! 
I  wish  I  could  shell  some  of  my  shtock  at  that  prishe  1  I  give  any  two  I 
hash  for  two  hunder  poundsh." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Jessuron,  I  thought  you  said  just  now  slaveb  were  becom- 
ing very  dear !" 

"  Dear,  yesh  ;  but  that's  doublish  dear.    S'help  me !  you  don't  mean 

it,  Mishter  Vochan  ?" 

"  But  I  do  mean  it ;  and  even  if  you  were  to  offer  me  two  hundred " 

"  Don't  shay  more  about  it,"  said  the  slave  merchant,  hurriedly  interrupt- 
ing the  hypothetic  speech  ;  "  don't  shay  more  ;  I  agreesh  to  give  it.  Two 
hunder  poundsh  ! — blesh  my  shtars  !  it'll  make  a  bankrup'  of  me." 

"  No,  it  will  not  do  that :  since  I  cannot  agree  to  take  it." 

"  Not  to  take  two  hunder  poundsh  ?" 

"  No — nor  twice  that  sum,  if  you  were  disposed  to  offer  it." 

"  Gott  help  ush,  Mishter  Vochan  ;  you  shurely  ish  shokin?  Wh^  can 
you  not  take  it  ?  I  hash  the  monish  in  my  pocket." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  neighbour  ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  could  no! 
•ell  the  girl  Tola  at  any  price,  without  the  consent  of  my  daughter,  tc 
whom  I  have  given  her."  * 

"Mish  Vochan?" 

"  Yes — she  is  her  maid,  and  I  know  that  my  daughter  is  very  fond  of 
her.  It  is  not  likely  she  would  consent  to  the  girl's  being  sold." 

"  But,  Mishter  Vochan,  you  shurely  don't  let  your  daughter  slitand  be* 
Iween  you  and  a  good  bargain  ?  Two  hunder  pound  is  big  monish, — big 
monish,  Mishter  Vochan.  The  wench  ish  not  worth  half  the  monish,  and, 
for  myshelf,  I  wouldn't  give  half ;  but  I  don't  want  to  dishappoint  a  good 
cuahtomer,  who'se  not  so  particular  ash  to  the  prishe." 

"  Your  customer  fancies  the  girl,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Vaughan,  glancing  si 
Ri&cantlv  at  his  guest    "  She  js  yerv  good  looking— uo  wonder.    ro 


JUDITH   JESSURON.  8  i 

that  be  the  case,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  I  should  myself  not  bo  helmed  to 
part  with  her  ;  and,  as  for  my  daughter,  if  she  suspected  such  a  purpose. 
all  the  money  you  have  got,  Mr.  Jessuron,  would'nt  reach  the  price." 

"  STielp  me ,  Mishter  Vochan,  you're  mishtaken.  The  cushtomcr  1 

apeak  of  never  shet  hish  eyes  on  the  wench.  Itsh  only  a  waiting-maid-  he 
wants  foi  hish  table  ;  and  I  thought  of  her,  ash  she'sh  joosht  what  he  des- 
cribes. How  do  you  know  that  Mish  Vochan  might  not  consent  to  let  he* 
eo  ?  1  promish  to  get  her  another  young  girl  ash  good  or  better  ash 
Tola." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  planter,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  and  apparently 
tempted  by  the  handsome  offer, "  since  you  seem  so  determined  upon 
buying  her,  I'll  consult  my  daughter  about  it ;  but  I  can  hold  out  very 
little  hope  of  success.  I  know  that  she  likes  this  Foolah.  I  have  heard 
that  the  girl  was  some  king's  daughter  in  her  own  country  ;  and  I  am  as 
good  as  certain  Kate  won't  consent  to  her  being  sold." 

"  Not  if  you  wished  it,  Mishter  Vochan  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  I  insisted  upon  it,  of  course  ;  but  I  give  my  daughter  a  sort  of 
promise  not  to  part  with  the  girl  against  her  wish,  and  I  nevpr  v^o^  my 
word,  Mr.  Jessuron — not  to  my  own  child." 

With  this  rather  afifected  profession,  the  planter  walked  out  of  the 
room,  leaving  the  slave  merchant  to  his  reflections. 

"  May  the  devil  shtrike  me  dead  if  that  man  ishn't  mad  1"  soliloquised 

the  Jew,  when  left  to  himself.  "  STielp  me ,  if  he  isn't  1  refuse  two 

hunder  pound  for  a  neger  wench  as  brown  as  a  cocoa-nut  shell  1  Blesh 
my  shtars  1" 

"  As  I  told  you,  Mr.  Jessuron,"  said  the  planter,  returning  to  the  hall, 
"  my  daughter  is  inexorable.  Tola  cannot  be  sold." 

"  Good  morning,  Mishter  Vochan,"  said  the  slave  merchant,  grasping  his 
hat  and  umbrella,  and  making  for  the  door.  "  Good  morning,  shir  ;  I  hash 
no  other  bishness  to-day." 

Then,  putting  on  his  hat  and  grasping  his  umbrella  with  an  air  of  spite- 
ful energy  he  was  unable  to  conceal,  he  hurried  down  the  stone  steps, 
scrambled  upon  the  back  of  his  mule,  and  rode  away  in  sullen  silence. 

"  Unusually  free  with  his  money  this  morning,"  said  the  planter,  looking 
after  him.  "  Some  shabby  scheme,  I  have  no  doubt.  Well,  I  suppose  I 
have  thwarted  it ;  besides,  I  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  of  disobliging  the 
eld  rascal :  many's  the  tune  he  has  done  as  much  for  me." 


CHAPTER  XL 

JUDITH     JES8DRON. 

Ill  the  most  unamiable  of  tempers  did  the  slave  speculator  ride  back  down 
the  avenue.  So  out  of  sorts  was  he  at  the  result  of  his  interview,  that 
he  did  not  think  of  unfolding  his  blue  umbrella  to  protect  himself  from 
the  hot  rays  of  the  sun,  now  striking  vertically  downwards.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  used  the  parrapluie  for  a  very  different  purpose— every  now  and 
then  belabouring  with  it  the  sides  of  his  mule,  as  if  to  rid  himself  of  hif 
•pleen  by  venting  it  on  the  innocent  mongrel. 


38  JUDITH  JESfltJBOH. 

Nor  did  he  go  in  silence,  although  he  was  alone.  In  a  kind  of 
tark  soliloquy  he  kept  muttering,  as  he  rode  on,  long  strings  of  phrases 
denunciatory  of  the  host  whose  roof  he  had  just  quitted.  The  daughter, 
too,  of  that  host  came  in  for  a  share  of  this  muttered  denunciation,  which, 
at  t|pies,  assumed  the  form  of  a  menace. 

Part  cf  what  he  said  was  spoken  distinctly,  and  with  emphasis  : — 

"  The  duaht  of  my  shoosh,  Loftish  Vochan — I  flingsh  it  back  to  yoa  I 
Oott  for  damsch  1  there  wash  a  time  when  you  would  be  glad  for  my  two 
bonder  poundsh.  Not  for  any  monish  ?  Bosh  !  Grand  lady,  Mish  Kate 
— Mish  Quasheby !  Ha  1  I  knowsh  a  thing — I  knowsh  a  leetle  thing.  Some 
day,  may  be,  yourshelf  sell  for  lesh  as  two  hunder  poundish :  ach  !  1  not 
grudgsh  twice  the  monish  to  see  that  day ! 

"  The  dusht  of  my  shoosh  to  both  of  yoush  1"  he  repeated,  as  he  clear- 
ed the  gate  entrance.  "  I'sh  off  your  grounds,  now,  and,  if  I  hash 
you  here,  I  shay  you  something  of  my  mind — something  as  make  you  sell 
your  wench  for  lesh  as  two  hunder  poundsh !  I  do  so,  some  time  yet, 
pleaeh  Gott.  Ach  1" 

As  he  uttered  this  last  exclamation  with  a  prolonged  aspirate,  he  raised 
nimself  erect  in  his  stirrups,  and,  half  turning  his  mule,  shook  his  umb- 
rella in  a  threatening  manner,  towards  Mount  Welcome,  his  eye  accom- 
panying the  action  with  a  glance  that  expressed  some  secret  but  vindictive 
determination. 

As  he  faced  back  into  the  road,  another  personage  appeared  upon  the 
scene — a  female  equestrian  who,  trotting  up  briskly,  turned  her  horse,  and 
rode  on  by  his  side. 

She  was  a  young  girl,  or  rather  a  young  woman — a  bright  beautiful 
creature,  who  appeared  an  angel  by  the  side  of  the  demon-like  old  man. 

She  had  evidently  been  waiting  for  him  at  the  turning  of  the  road  ;  and 
the  air  of  easy  familiarity,  with  the  absence  of  any  salutation  as  they  met 
told  that  they  had  not  long  been  separated. 

Who  was  this  charming  equestrian. 

A  stranger  would  have  asked  this  question  while  his  eye  rested  upon 
the  object  of  it  with  mingled  feelings  of  wonder  and  admiration  at  such 
rare  beauty — wonder  at  beholding  it  in  such  rude  companionship  ! 

It  was  a  beauty  that  need  not  be  painted  in  detail.     The  forehead  of 
noble  arch,  the  scimetar-shaped  eye-brows  of  ebon  blackness,  the  dark 
brown  flashing  pupils,  the  piquant  prominence  of  the  nose,  with  its  spiral , 
curving  nostrils,  were  all  characteristics  of  Hebraic  beauty — a  shrine  b'>- , 
lore  Trtiich  both  Moslem  and  Christian  have  oftimesbent  the  knee  in  hum  I 
Sblest  adoration.  \ 

Twenty  cycles  have  rolled  past — twenty  centuries  of  outrage,  calumny, 
«nd  wrong — housed  in  low  haunts — pillaged  and  persecuted— oft  driven 
to  desperation — rendered  roofless  and  homeless — still  amid  all,  and  in 
spite  of  all,  lovely  Judah's  dark-eyed  daughters,  fair  as  when  trey  danced 
to  the  music  of  cymbal  and  timbrel,  or,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
gaiden-stringed  harp,  sang  the  lays  of  a  happier  time. 

Here,  in  a  new  world,  and  canopied  undor  the  occidental  sky,  had 
sprung  up  a  very  type  of  Jewish  beauty  ;  for  never  was  daughter  of 
Judah  lovelier  than  the  daughter  of  Jacob  Jessuron — she  who  was  now 
riding  by  his  side.  A  singular  contrast  did  they  present—  this  fair  maid 


JtTBlTH  JESStJfcOH.  39 

tc  that  harsh-featured,  ugly  old  man  —  unlike  as  the  rose  ta  its 


Sad  are  we  to  say,  that  the  contrast  was  only  physical  :  morally,  it 
was.  like  father  like  daughter.  In  external  form  Judith  Jessuron  was  an 
angel  ;  in  spirit  —  and  we  say  it  with  regret  —  she  was  the  child  $f  heu 
father. 

The  truth  of  our  avowal  will  be  readily  deduced  from  the  dialogue 
that  on  the  moment  of  their  meeting  commenced  between  them. 

"  A  failure  ?"  said  she,  taking  the  initiative.  "  Oh  !  I  needn't  have  ask- 
ed you  :  it's  clear  enough  from  your  looks  —  though,  certes,  that  beautiful 
countenance  of  yours  is  not  a  very  legible  index  to  your  thoughts.  What 
says  Vanity  Vaughan  ?  Will  he  sell  the  girl  ?" 

"No." 

"  As  I  expected." 

"  S'help  me,  he  won't  !" 

"  How  much  did  you  bid  for  her  ?" 

"  Osh  !    Fsh  ashamed  to  tell  you,  Shoodith." 

"  Come,  old  rabbi,  you  needn't  be  backward  before  me.    How  much  T" 

"  Two  hunder  poundsh." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  !  Well  that  is  a  high  figure.  If  what  you've 
told  me  be  true,  his  own  daughter  isn't  worth  so  much.  Ha  1  ha  !  ha  !" 

"  Hush,  Shoodith,  dear  !  Don't  shpeak  of  that  —  for  your  life  don't 
§hpeak  of  it.  You  may  shpoil  all  my  plansh  I" 

"  Have  no  fear,  good  father.  I  never  spoiled  any  plan  of  yours  yet— 
have  I  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  You  hash  been  a  good  shild,  my  daughter  1  —  a  good  shild 
s'help  me  -  ,  you  hash  f." 

"  But  tell  me,  why  would  the  custos  not  sell  ?  He  likes  money  almost 
as  well  as  yourself.  Two  hundred  pounds  is  a  large  price  for  thia  cop- 
per-coloured wench  —  quite  double  what  she's  worth." 

"  Ach,  Shoodith  dear  it  wash  not  Vochan  hishelf  that  refused." 

"  Who  then  ?" 

"  Thish  very  daughter  you  speaksh  of." 

"  She  !"  exclaimed  the  young  Jewess,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  and  a  con- 
temptuous twist  of  her  beautiful  nostril,  that  all  at  once  changed  her 
beauty  into  very  ugliness.  "  She,  you  say?  I  wonder  what  next?  The 
conceited  mustee;  herself  a  slave  !" 

"  Shtop  —  shtop,  Shoodijth,"  interrupted  the  Jew,  with  a  look  of  uneaai- 
ieos.  "  Keep  that  to  yourshelf,  my  shild.  Shay  no  more  about  it  —  at 
leasht,  not  now,  not  now.  The  trees  may  have  ears,  Shoodith." 

The  burst  of  angry  passion  hindered  the  fair  Judith  from  making  re- 
joinder,  and  for  some  moments  father  and  daughter  rode  on  in  silence. 

The  latter  was  the  first  to  re-open  the  conversation. 

"  YoSi  are  silly,  good  father,"  said  she,  "  in  offering  to  buy  this  girl  at 
|fi." 

"  Ay  —  what  would  you  shay  ?"  inquired  the  old  Jew,  as  if  the  interro- 
gatory had  been  an  echo  to  his  own  thoughts.  "  What  would  you 
•hay  ?" 

"  I  Tvovld  say  that  vou  are  silly,  old  rabbi  Jacob,  tod  that's  what  I  d« 


£)  JUDITH   JEBSTJKOff. 

"  Blesh  my  sn  )ul !    What  dosh  you  mean,  Shoodith  ?" 

"  Why — dear,  dear  father!  you're  not  always  so  dull  of  comprehension. 
Answer  me  :  What  do  you  want  the  Foolah  girl  for  ?" 

"  Osh  1  You  know  what  I  wants  her  for.  Thish  prinsh  will  give  hist 
twenty  Mandingoes  for  her.  There  ish  no  doubt  but  she's  hieh  sister. 
Twenty  good  shtrong  Mandingoes,  worth  twenty  hunder  poundsh.  Blesh 
ny  soul  1  it'sh  a  fortune  1" 

"  Well,  and  if  it  is  a  fortune,  what  then  ?" 

"  If  it  ish  ?  By  our  fathers  1  you  talk  of  twenty  hunder  poun'  ash  if 
ttonish  was  dirt." 

"  My  worthy  parent,  you  misunderstand  me." 

"  Mishunderstand  you,  Shoodith  ?" 

"  You  do.  I  have  more  respect  for  twenty  hundred  pounds  than  yon 
give  me  credit  for.  So  much,  as  to  advise  you  to  get  it" 

"  Get  it  I  why,  daughter,  that  ish  shoosh  what  I  am  trying  to  do." 

"  Ay,  and  you've  gone  about  it  in  such  a  bungling  fashion,  that  you  run 
the  risk  of  losing  it." 

"  And  how  would  you  go  about  getting  it,  mine  Shoodith  ?" 

"  By  taking  it" 

The  slave  merchant  jerked  upon  the  bridle,  and  pulled  his  mule  to  a 
stand — as  ho  did  so  darting  towards  his  daughter  a  look  half-puzzled, 
half-penetrating. 

"  Good  father  Jacob,"  continued  she,  halting  at  the  same  time, "  you  are 
not  wont  to  be  so  dull-witted.  While  waiting  for  you  at  the  gate  of  this 
pompous  sugar  planter,  I  could  not  help  reflecting  ;  and  my  reflections 
led  me  to  ask  the  question  :  what  on  earth  had  taken  you  to  his  house  ?" 

"  And  what  answer  did  you  find,  Shoodith  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  much  ;  only  that  you  went  upon  a  very  idle  errand." 

"  Yesh,  it  nash  been  an  idle  errand ;  I  did  not  get  what  I  went  for." 

"  And  what  matters  it  if  you  didn't  ?" 

"What  mattersh  it?  Twenty  Mandingoes  mattersh  a  great  deal — 
twenty  hunder  poundsh  currenshy.  That  ish  what  it  mattersh,  Shoodith, 
•nine  darling  I" 

"  Not  the  paring  of  a  Mandingo's  toe-nail,  my  good  rabbi  Jessuron." 

"  Hach !  what  shay  you,  mine  wise  Shoodith  ?" 

"  Wheat  say  I  ?  Simply,  that  these  Mandingoes  might  as  well  have  been 
yours  without  all  this  trouble.  They  may  be  yet — ay,  and  their  master 
too,  if  you  desire  to  have  a  prince  for  your  slave.  I  do." 

"  Shpeak  out,  Shoodith  ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  will  presently.  Did  you  not  say  that  Captain  Jowler  nas  reason* 
for  not  coming  ashore  ?" 

"  Captain  Showier !  He  would  rather  land  in  the  Cannibal  Islands  than 
to  Montego  Bay.  Well,  Shoodith  ?" 

4<  Rabbi  Jessuron,  you  weary  my  patience.  For  the  Foolah  prinoe,  an 
f  ou  say  he  is,  you  are  answerable  only  to  Captain  Jowler.  Captain  Jow- 
fer  comes  not  ashore." 

"  True— it  ish  true,"  assented  the  Jew,  with  a  gesture  that  signified  hia 
comprehension  of  these  preliminary  premises. 

"  Who,  then,  is  to  hinder  you  from  doing  as  you  please  in  the  matter  of 
these  Mandingoes  T ' 


THE    STEERAGE   fASSENGEft.  41 

"Wonderful  Shoodith !"  exclaimed  the  father,  throwing  up  his  wms, 
and  turning  upon  his  daughter  a  look  of  enthusiastic  admiration.  "Woi> 
derful  Shoodith  1  Joosh  the  very  thing  } — blesh  my  soul  1 — and  I  nevei 
thought  of  it," 

"  Well,  father  ;  luckily  it's  not  too  late.  /  have  been  thinking  of  it.  '. 
knew  very  well  that  Kate  Vaughan  would  not  part  with  the  girl  Yola.  I 
told  you  she  wouldn't ;  but,  by-the-bye,  I  hope  you've  said  nothing  «f 

4  what  you  wanted  her  for  ?    If  you  have " 

!     "  Not  a  word,  Shoodith  1  not  a  word  !" 

"  Then  no  one  need  be  a  word  the  wiser.     As  to  Captain  Jowler * 

44  Showier  daren't  show  his  face  in  the  Bay  ;  that'sh  why  he  landed  hiah 
cargo  up  the  coast.  He'll  be  gone  away  in  twenty-four  hours." 

44  Then  in  twenty-four  hours  the  Mandingoea  may  be  yours — prince,  at 
tendants,  and  all.  But  time  is  precious,  papa.  We  had  better  hasten 
home  at  once,  and  strip  his  royal  highness  of  those  fine  feathers,  befor* 
some  of  our  curious  neighbours  may  come  in :  people  will  talk  scandal, 
you  know.  As  for  our  worthy  overseer " 

44  Ah,  Havener  1  he  knoweh  all  about  it.  I  wash  obliged  to  tell  him  ash 
we  landed." 

41  Of  course  you  were  ;  and  it  will  cost  you  a  Mandingo  or  two  to  keep 
his  tongue  tied  :  that  it  will.  For  the  rest,  there  need  be  no  difficulty. 
It  won't  matter  what  these  savages  may  say  for  themselves  :  fortunately, 
there's  no  scandal  in  a  black  man's  tongue." 

"  Wonderful  Shoodith  I"  again  exclaimed  the  Admiring  parent.  "  My 
precious  daughter,  you  are  worth  your  weight  in  golden  guinish  1  Twen- 
ty-four shlaves  for  nothing,  and  one  of  them  a  born  prinsh  1  Two  thous- 
and currenshyl  Blesh  my  soul  I  It  ish  a  shplendid  profit — worth  a 
whole  year's  buyin'  and  shellin'." 

And  with  this  honest  reflection,  the  slave  merchant  hammered  his  mule 
into  a  trot,  and  followed  his  "  precious  Shoodith  " — who  had  already 
given  the  whip  to  her  horse,  and  was  riding  rapidly  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

X  THE   8TEHRAGE   PASSENGER. 

>.  the  third  day  after  the  slaver  had  cast  anchor  in  the  Bay  of  Montega, 
A  la-ge  square-rigged  vessel  made  her  appearance  in  the  offing  ;  and  head- 
i  jg  shoreward,  with  all  sail  set,  stood  boldly  in  for  the  harbour.  The  Un- 
ion  Jack  of  England,  spread  to  the  breeze,  floated  freely  above  her  taff- 
rail  ;  and  various  boxes,  bales,  trunks,  and  portmanteaus,  that  could  be 
seen  mi  her  deck — brought  up  for  debarcation — as  well  as  the  frank,  man- 
ly countenances  of  the  sailors  who  composed  her  crew,  proclaimed  the 
ship  to  be  an  honest  trader.  The  lettering  upon  her  stern  told  that  ehe 
was  the  "  Sea  Nymph,  of  Liverpool." 

Though  freighted  with  a  cargo  of  merchandise,  and  in  reality  a  mer< 
chantman.  the  presence  on  board  of  several  individuals  in  the  costume  of 
landsmen,  denoted  that  the  Sea  Nymph  also  accommodated  passenger* 


STEEttAlYR 

The  majority  of  these  were  West  India  planters,  with  their  famffias 
-eturuing  from  a  visit  to  the  mother  country — their  sons,  perhaps,  aftef 
graduating  at  an  English  university,  and  their  daughters  on  having  re- 
ceived their  final  polish  at  some  fashionable  metropolitan  seminary. 

Here  and  there  an  "  attorney" — a  constituent  element  of  West  Indian 
society,  though  not  necessarily,  as  the  title  suggests,  a  real  limb  of  the  law. 
Of  these,  however,  there  might  have  been  one  or  two,  and  an  unpractised 
Jisciple  of  Bsculapius — both  professionally  bent  on  seeking  fortune,  and 
with  fair  prospects  of  finding  it,  in  a  land  notorious  for  crime  as  unwhole- 
*ome  in  clime.  These,  with  a  sprinkling  of  nondescripts,  made  up  the  list 
of  the  Sea  Nymph's  cabin  passengers. 

There  were  but  few  in  the  steerage.  They  who  are  compelled  to  adopt 
that  irksome  mode  of  voyaging  across  the  Atlantic  have  but  little  errand 
to  the  West  Indies,  or  elsewhere  to  tropical  lands — where  labour  is  mon- 
opolised by  the  thews  and  sinews  of  the  slave.  Only  three  or  four  of  this 
class  had  found  passage  on  board  the  Sea  Nymph ;  and  yet,  among  these 
humble  voyagers  was  one  destined  to  play  a  conspicuous  part  in  our 
story. 

The  individual  in  question  was  a  young  man,  in  appearance  of  twenty 
or  twenty-one  years  of  age.  In  stature  he  was  what  is  termed  "  middle 
height,"  with  limbs  well  rounded  and  tersely  set,  denoting  activity  and 
strength.  His  complexion,  though  not  what  is  termed  brunette,  was  dark 
for  a  native  of  Britain,  though  such  was  he.  His  features  were  nobly  de- 
nned, and  his  whole  countenance  sufficiently  striking  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  even  an  indifferent  observer.  Dark  brown  eyes,  and  hair  of  lik^a 
colour  waving  luxuriantly  over  his  cheeks,  were  characteristic  points  ol 
gracefulness ;  and,  take  him  all  in  all,  he  was  one  that  might  jutftly  be 
pronounced  a  handsome  young  fellow. 

His  dress,  though  neither  rich  in  quality  nor  cut  in  the  newest  fashion, 
was,  nevertheless,  becoming  to  him,  and  did  not  detract  from  the  graces 
which  Nature  had  somewhat  lavishly  bestowed  upon  his  person.  It  was 
a  costume  not  at  all  rustic,  but  rather  such  as  might  be  worn  by  some 
young  student,  whose  poor  but  fond  parents  had  pinched  themselves,  to 
provide  for  him  an  education  superior  to  that  of  the  common  parochial 
school,  and  a  dress  becoming  the  position  which  they  sought  for  him. 

The  garaents  he  wore  were  his  best,  put  on  for  the  first  time  during 
the  voyage,  and  for  the  grand  occasion  of  landing.  Nor  did  the  young 
fellow  make  such  a  mean  appearance  in  them.  Their  scantiness  only 
aerved  to  exhibit  the  fine  tournure  of  his  body  and  limbs  ;  and  the  dark 
blue  tunic  frock,  with  black  braid,  skirting  down  over  a  pair  of  close-fitting 
tights,  and  Hessian  boots,  gave  him  rather  a  distingue  air,  notwithstanding 
a  little  threadbarishness  auparent  along  the  seams. 

The  occupation  in  which  the  young  man  was  engaged  betrayed  a  certaia 
degree  of  refinement.  Seated  upon  the  fore-mast  head,  in  the  blank  leaf 
of  a  book,  which  appeared  to  be  his  journal,  he  was  sketching  the  bar 
bour  into  which  the  ship  was  about  to  enter ;  and  the  drawing  though 
merely  intended  as  an  outline  limning,  exhibited  no  inconsiderable  degree 
of  artistic  skill. 

For  all  that,  the  young  man  was  not  an  artist.  Professionally,  indeed, 
vid  to  his  misfortune,  he  was  nothing.  A  poor  scholar  without  trick  or 


CABIN  PASSENGER.  43 

trade  by  whish  he  might  earn  a  liveimooa,  ne  had  come  c  it  to  u.t.  West 
Indies,  as  young  men  go  to  other  colonies,  with  that  sort  of  indefinite  hop* 
that  Fortune,  in  some  way  or  other,  might  prove  kinder  abroad  than  sh» 
had  been  at  home. 

Whatever  hopes  of  success  '.he  young  colonist  may  have  entertained, 
"Jhey  were  evidently  neither  sanguine  nor  continuous.  Though  naturally 
of  a  cheerful  spirit,  as  his  countenance  indicated,  a  close  observer  mighl 
have  detected,  now  and  then,  a  certain  shadow  upon  it. 

As  the  ship  drew  near  to  the  shore,  he  closed  the  book,  and  sate  scan 
ning  the  gorgeous  picture  of  trcpical  scenery  now,  for  the  first  time,  di» 
slosed  to  his  eyes. 

Despite  the  pleasant  emotions  which  so  fair  a  scene  vae  calculated  to 
call  forth,  his  countenance  betrayed  some  anxiety — perhaps  a  doubt  as  to 
whether  a  welcome  awaited  him  in  that  lovely  land  upon  which  he  was 
looking. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    CABIN    PASSENGER. 

ANOTHER  passenger  of  the  Sea  Nymph,  with  whom  our  readers  raust 
necessarily  become  acquainted,  was  also  a  young  man,  apparently  of  the 
same  age  as  the  one  already  introduced.  Only  in  this,  and  the  circum- 
stance that  both  were  Englishmen,  did  they  resemble  each  other.  In  al£ 
other  respects  they  were  signally  unlike.  In  complexion,  colour  of  the 
hair,  eyes,  and  beard,  each  presented  a  complete  contrast  to  the  other. 
Tho  former  has  been  desoribed  as  of  dark  complexion  ;  the  latter  was 
fair-skinned — pre-eminently  so — with  hair  of  a  light  yellowish  hue,  having 
the  appearance  of  being  artificially  curled,  and  slightly  darkened  with  the 
gloss  of  some  perfumed  oil.  The  whiskers  and  moustache  were  nearly 
of  the  same  colour,  both  evidently  cultivated  with  an  elaborate  assiduity, 
that  proclaimed  excessive  conceit  in  them  on  the  part  of  their  owner. 
The  eyebrows  were  also  of  the  lightest  shade  ;  but  the  colour  of  the  eyes 
was  not  so  easily  told  ;  since  one  of  them  was  kept  habitually  closed, 
while  a  glancing  lens,  in  a  frame  of  tortoise-shell,  hindered  a  fair  view  of 
the  other.  Through  the  glass,  however,  it  appeared  of  a  very  light  grey 
and  decidedly  "  piggish."  The  features  of  this  individual  were  regula? 
enough;  though  without  any  striking  character,  and  of  a  cast  rather  effemi- 
nate than  vulgar.  Their  prevailing  expression  was  that  of  a  certain 
superciliousness,  at  times  extending  to  an  affectation  of  sardonism. 

The  dress  of  the  young  man  was  in  correspondence  with  the  fopp«ry 
exhibited  in  the  perfumed  locks  and  eye-glass.  It  consisted  of  a  surtout 
of  broadcloth,  of  a  very  light  drab,  with  a  cape  that  scarce  covered  the 
shoulders ;  a  white  beaver  hat ;  vest  and  pants  of  spotless  buff  kersey 
mere ;  kid  gloves  on  his  hands  ;  and  boots,  bright  as  lacquer  could  nmkw 
them,  on  his  feet—  all  itoms  of  apparel  made  in  a  style  of  fashion,  and 
worn  with  au  air  of  savoir  faire  that  loudly  proclaimed  the  Ixmdon  ex- 
quisite. 

The  affected  drawl  in  which  the  gentleman  spoke,  whenever  he  condea- 


44  THE  OABtN   PASSfctfGfifi. 

cended  to  hold  communion  with  his  fellow-passengeri    confirmed  this 
character — a  fop  of  the  first  water. 

It  need  not  be  added  that  our  exquisite  was  a  cabm  pawenger — in  thii 
respect  also  differing  from  his  less  favoured  compagnon  du  voyage;  and  the 
marked  obeisance  which  was  paid  him  by  the  steward  and  cabin  boys  of 
the  Sea  Nymph,  gave  evidence  of  his  capability  to  bestow  a  liberal 
largess.  Even  the  blunt  skipper  treated  him  with  a  certain  deference, 
which  proved  his  passenger  to  be  a  person  either  of  wealth  or  distinction, 
or,  may  be,  both. 

Let  us  bid  adieu  to  circumlocution,  and  at  once  declare  who  and  what 
he  was.  Yclept  Montagu  Smythje — a  presumed  improvement  upon 
Smith — the  individual  in  question  was  a  youth  of  good  family  and  for- 
tune ;  the  latter  consisting  of  a  magnificent  sugar  estate  in  Jamaica — left 
him  by  a  deceased  relative — to  visit  which  was  the  object  of  his  voyage. 

The  estate  he  had  never  seen :  as  this  was  his  first  trip  across  the  At- 
lantic ;  but  he  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the  property. 
The  handsome  income  which  it  had  afforded  him,  during  several  years  of 
his  minority,  and  which  had  enabled  him  to  live  in  magnificent  style  in 
the  West  End  of  London,  was  a  substantial  proof  that  Montagu  Castle — 
such  was  the  name  of  the  estate — was  something  more  than  a  castle  in 
the  air.  He  had  been  virtually  its  owner  for  several  years ;  but  up  to  the 
attainment  of  his  majority — a  very  recent  event — the  property  had  been 
managed  by  a  trustee,  resident  in  the  island  :  one  Mr.  Vaughan,  himself 
a  sugar  planter,  and  next  neighbour  to  the  original  lord  of  Montagu 
Castle. 

Mr.  Smythje  had  not  come  over  the  water  with  any  intention  of  settling 
upon  his  Jamaica  estate  "  Such  an  ideaw,"  to  use  his  own  phraseology, 
•'  nevwaw  entawed  my  bwain.  To  exchange  London  and  its  pwesyws  fox 
a  wesidence  among  those  howid  niggaws--deaw,  no  ;  aw  could  neywaw 
ttfnk  of  such  a  voluntawy  banishment — that  would  be  a  baw —  a  decided 
bawl" 

After  this  fashion  did  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  declare  himself  to  his  fel- 
low-passengers of  the  Sea  Nymph,  as  he  explained  to  them  the  object  ot 
his  voyage. 

"  A  meaw  twip  to  see  something  of  the  twopics,  of  which  awVe  heard 
eartwaor'nary  stories — have  a  look  at  my  sugaw  plantation  and  niggawa 
— dooced  nyce  cwib,they  say,  but  sadly  out -of  repawa  and  hot —  aw,  hot 
us  the  infawnal  regiaws." 

To  say  the  truth,  Mr.  Smythje  could  scarce  teh1  why  he  was  making 
this  trip.  It  was  not  the  obedience  to  the  promptings  of  any  inclination 
that  he  had  consented  to  seperate  himself,  even  temporarily,  from  his 
"  deaw  London,"  and  its  gay  delights  j  nor  had  he  the  slightest  curiosity 
to  see  the  goose  that  laid  his  golden  eggs,  so  long  as  the  eggs  themselves 
were  transmitted  safely  to  his  banker  in  London.  It  was  partly  at  the  in- 
stigation of  his  friends — who  fancied  that  an  absence  from  the  gay  metro- 
polis might  do  something  to  cure  him  of  certain  proclivities  towards  dis- 
sipation to  which  he  was  too  recklessly  giving  way — and  partly  at  the 
solicitation  of  his  Jamaica  trustee,  that  he  had  adventured  on  this  voy- 
^e. 

Another  motive,  which  he  himself  proclaimed — perhaps  as  powerful 
—was  his  "  deeiaw  te  see  some  oi  those  Queole  queetyaws,"  whom  he 


LOFTUS   VAUGHAN   ON  THE   LOOK-OUT.  *6 

had  heard  too  be  "dooced  pwetty."  Even  the  sober  guardian,  Mr 
Vaughan — as  if  well  comprehending  the  character  of  his  ward,  though 
never  having  seen  him — had  made  use  of  this  lure  in  his  letter  of  invita- 
tion, though  only  in  an  incidental  and  extremely  delicate  manner.  It 
argued  well  for  the  trustee's  integrity — thus  courting,  as  it  were,  a  per 
sonal  inspection  of  the  estate  in  trust.  Perhaps,  however,  he  might  have 
been  actuated  by  some  motive  not  quite  so  creditable ! 

One  fact  may  here  be  mentioned  :  the  young  proprietor,  during  his 
•tay  in  the  island,  was  to  be  Uie  guest  of  Mr.  Vaughan,  on  the  plea  that 
Montagu  Castle  having  been  for  years  uninhabited,  was  not  in  a  fit  stale 
for  the  reception  of  its  distinguished  owner.  The  trustee  had  not  deem 
ed  it  worth  while  to  go  to  the  unnecessary  expense  of  putting  it  in  order, 
sinoe  only  *  temporary  residence  was  intended.  His  own  house  was  to 
be  placed  at  the  service  of  his  ward  in  trust  during  the  latter's  sojourn 
in  the  island.  There  he  would  find  ample  accommodation;  since  the  man- 
sion A!  Mount  Welcome  was  one  of  the  largest  in  Jamaica,  while  the 
fank'Jy  of  its  proprietor  was  one  of  the  smallest :  Mr.  Vaughan  having 
but  one  child — an  only  daughter. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

.XJFTUB   VAUGHAN   ON  THE  LOOK-OUT. 

EVBKT  day,  after  that  on  which  he  had  received  the  two  English  letters, 
and  almost  every  hour  during  daylight,  might  Loftus  Vaughan  have  been 
seen,  telescope  in  hand,  at  one  of  the  open  windows  of  his  house,  sweep- 
ing with  his  glass  the  roadstead  and  offing  of  Montego  Bay.  The  object 
of  this  telescopic  observation  was,  that  he  might  descry  the  Sea  Nymph 
refore  she  had  entered  the  harbour ,-in  order  that  his  carriage  should  be 
at  the  port  to  receive  the  distinguished  Smythje  on  his  landing.  At  this 
period  there  were  no  steamers  trading  across  the  Atlantic  punctual  to  a 
day  and  almost  to  an  hour.  Though  the  letter  of  advice  had  been  writ- 
ten ten  days  before  that  on  which  the  Sea  Nymph  was  to  sail,  there  could 
be  no  calculation  made  upon  such  uncertain  data  as  winds  and  waves  ; 
and  the  ship  which  carried  Montagu  Smythje  might  arrive  at  any  hour. 

That  some  distinguished  guest  was  expected,  was  a  fact  that  had  ren- 
dered itself  conspicuous  to  every  domestic  in  the  establishment  of  Mount 
Welcome.  Every  day  saw  some  article  or  articles  of  costly  furniture 
brought  home  from  the  "  Bay  ;"  and  the  chambers  of  the  "  great  house  " 
were  being  freshly  decorated  to  receive  them. 

The  house  wenches,  and  other  in-door  servants,  were  furnished  with 
tew  dresses,  some  even  with  liveries — an  unusual  piece  of  finery  in 
Jamaica — while  shoes  and  stockings  were  forced  upon  feet  that,  perhaps, 
had  never  felt  such  impedimenta  before,  and  whose  owners  would  have 
feeen  only  too  glad  to  have  escaped  the  torture  of  wearing  them. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  the  planter  was  undergoing  all  this  ex- 
travagant expenditure  for  the  reception  of  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje,  and 
him  aloDe  Had  it  beeu  only  his  own  nephew  that  was  expected,  BQ 


4|  LOFITTS  VAtfGHAN   ON  THE   LOOK  -OUT. 

Biicli  continuous  look-out  would  have  becu  kept  for  him,  and  no  suci 
preparations  made  to  do  him  honour  on  his  arrival. 

Neither  do  M.  Vaughan 's  motives  require  explanation :  the  reader  will 
ere  this  have  surmised  them.  He  was  the  father  of  a  daughter,  ready  ai 
any  moment  for  marriage.  M.  Montagu  Smythje  was,  in  his  eyes,  not 
only  eligible,  but  highly  desirable,  specimen  for  a  son-in-law.  The  youLg 
man  was  possessed  of  a  splendid  property,  as  Mr.  Vaughan  well  knew  ; 
for  the  worthy  planter  was  not  onty  custos  rotulorurn,  but  for  many  long 
v-Airs  had  been  custos  of  Montagu  Castle.  He  could  tell  its  value  to  a 
^milling  "  currency."  It  lay  contiguous  to  his  own.  He  had  often  looked 
with  a  longing  eye  upon  its  broad  acres  and  its  black  retainers  ;  and  had 
imbibed  a  desire,  amounting  indeed  to  a  passion,  to  possess  it — if  not  in 
his  own  right,  ateeast  in  that  of  his  daughter.  The  union  of  the  two 
estates,  Mount  Welcome  and  Montagu  Castle,  would  make  a  magnificent 
domain — one  of  the  richest  in  the  island.  To  accomplish  this  object  had 
long  been  the  wish  of  Loftus  Vaughan.  It  had  grown  and  grown  upon 
him,  till  it  had  become  the  most  cherished  purpose  of  his  heart.  Let  us 
not  conceal  a  more  creditable  motive  that  Mr.  Vaughan  had  for  desiring 
this  union.  He  had  been  too  long  in  Jamaica  to  be  ignorant  of,  the  true 
social  position  of  his  daughter.  However  beautiful  and  accomplished 
Kate  Vaughan  was  ;  however  much  her  father  loved  her — anal,  to  do  him 
justice,  his  paternal  affection  was  of  the  strongest — he  knew — he  had 
observed  it,  and  knew — that  between  her  and  the  young  gentleman  of 
his  acquaintance — that  is,  those  who  would  have  been  eligible — there  was 
that  social  barrier,  the  taint.  Often  had  he  reflected  upon  it,  and  with 
bitterness.  He  knew,  moreover,  tha*;  young  Englishmen,  especially  on 
iheir  first  arrivel  in  the  island,  made  light  of  this  barrier  ;  in  fact,  alto- 
gether disregarded  it,  until  corrupted  by  the  "  society  "  of  the  place. 

In  his  match-making  designs  the  Jamaica  planter  was  not  more  of  a 
sinner  than  hundreds  of  other  parents,  both  at  home  and  abroad ;  and 
there  is  this  much  in  his  favour :  that,  perhaps,  his  affection  for  his 
daughter,  and  the  desire  of  ennobling  her — for  by  such  an  alliance  would 
the  taint  be  extinguished — were  the  chief  motives  for  the  conduct  he  was 
pursuing. 

Unfortunately,  it  becomes  our  duty  to  record  other  traits  in  his  char- 
acter, with  acts  springing  from  them,  that  cannot  be  characterised  aug 
otherwise  than  mean. 

Mr.  Vaughan,  despite  his  vigorous  prosecution  of  the  business  of  life, 
despite  the  energy  that  had  enabled  him  to  grow  rich,  was  still  only  a 
weak-minded  man.  Like  many  men  of  humble  birth  who  had  rieen  to 
/ank  and  fortune,  he  had  become  the  "  beggar  set  on  horaeback  ;"  far 
more  jealous  of  aristocratic  honours  than  those  who  are  born  to  them ; 
an  advocate  for  hereditary  privileges,  ever  on  the  qui  vivc  to  battle  for 
them  ;  in  short,  a  true  specimen  of  "  plush." 

In  these  peculiarities,  the  character  of  Mr.  Vaughan  does  not  stand 
out  in  such  bold  relief.  His  counterparts  are  comma**  enough,  even  at 
this  later  day.  We  can  see  them  in  hundreds  around  us.  In  the  ''  uppyr 
house,"  among  our  "law  lords,"  most  of  whom,  and  the  banest  born  of 
them,  are  the  stoutest  advocates  of  uviHtocniiic  privilege.  In  the  streets 
•we  have  our  "  Sir  Peters"  and  "  Sir  Roberta,"  bearing  the  broad 
of  trade  aide  by  side  with  the  fire-new  patent  of  nobility. 


LOFTUS   VAITGHAN   ON   THE   LOOK-OUT.  47 

studied  courtesy  with  which  Mr.  Vaughan  was  preparing  to  re- 
the  lord  of  Montagu  Castle  was  in  strong  contrast  with  the  dia- 
,y  he  had  designed  for  his  kinsman. 

were  the  offsprings  of  mean  motives  ;  but  in  the  latter  case,  both 
and  the  intention  were  paltry  beyond  parallel.     The  announce- 
in  the  nephew's  letter  that  he  had  taken  a  steerage  passage  had  been 
ais  uiiile  a  source  of  bitter  chagrin.     Not  that  he  would  have  cared  a 
«Mt  about  the  thing,  had  the  young  fellow  voyaged  in  any  other  vessel 
.i»;in  the  Sea  Nymph,  or  had  he  travelled  unrecognised.    What  troubled 
ilr.  Vaughan  was  the  fear,  that  this  fact  might  become  known  to  Mr. 
Montagu  Smythje  ;  and  thus  creat  in  the  mind  of  the  latter  a  suspicion 
•jf  his,  the  planter's,  respectability. 

The  dread  of  this  expose  so  preyed  upon  Mr.  Yaughan's  mind  that,  had 
it  been  possible,  he  would  have  denied  the  relationship  altogether. 

He  had  conceived  a  hope  that  this  recognition  might  not  take  place 
during  the  voyage :  building  his  hope  on  the  character  of  the  aristocratic 
cockney,  which  he  knew  to  be  a  type  of  supercilious  pride.  Confiding 
in  the  faith  that  nothing  might  transpire  on  board  ship  to  make  Mr. 
Smythje  acquainted  with  the  relationship,  he  was  determined  there  should 
be  no  chance  on  shore.  To  preclude  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing,  he 
had  conceived  a  design  as  childish  as  it  was  cruel :  his  nephew  was  to 
be  kept  out  of  the  way. 

The  plan  of  action  he  had  traced  out  long  before  the  arrival  of  the  Sea 
Nymph.  Mr.  Montague  Smythje  was  to  be  met  at  the  landing,  and  at 
once  hurried  off  to  Mount  Welcome.  Herbert  Vaughan  was  likewise  to 
be  conducted  thither  ;  and  also  direct.  It  was  not  desirable  he  should  be 
left  to  make  inquiries  in  the  town,  where  his  uncle  was  universally 
known,  and  where  a  disclosure  of  his  relationship  to  the  poor  steerage 
passenger  would  have  been  equally  unpleasant  to  the  proud  planter. 

A  different  means  of  transport  was  to  be  provided  for  the  expected 
visitors,  and* their  transit  was  arranged  to  take  place  at  different  tirne.R— 
to  avoid  the  possibility  of  an  encounter  on  the  road.  Further  more,  on 
the  arrival  of  Herbert  upon  the  plantation,  he  was  not  to  proce3d  to  the 
dwelling  of  his  uncle,  but  was  to  be  taken  by  a  private  road  to  the  hotiHa 
of  the  overseer — which  stood  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  valloy,  nearly 
half  a  mile  distant  from  the  "  Buflf." 

Here  he  waa  to  remain  as  the  guest  of  the  overseer,  until  such  time  aa 
his  uncle  could  find  a  way  of  disposing  of-  him — either  by  procuring 
•cmo  employment  for  him  at  Montego  Bay,  or  the  situation  of  book-keeper 
on  some  distant  plantation. 

The  execution  of  the  programme  thus  prepared  was  intrusted  to  the 
overseer  of  Mount  Welcome  estate — a  man  every  way  worthy  of  such  a 
confidence,  and,  like  most  of  his  caliiug,  capable  of  schemes  even  still 
less  commendable. 

With  this  ingenious  contrivance  did  Mr.  Vaughan  await  the  arrival  of 
his  guests. 

******* 

It  was  upon  the  eighth  day  after  receiving  his  letters  of  advice,  and 
about  the  hour  of  noon,  that  the  planter,  playing  as  usual  with  his  tele* 
cope,  perceived  in  the  offing  of  Montego  Bay,  and  standing  in  for  tU« 
jjort,  a  large  square-rigged  vessel —a  ship 


48  tOFTUS   VAUGHAN   ON  THE   LOOK-OUT. 

It  might  be  the  Sea  Nymph,  and  it  might  not ;  but  taking  into  coneide 
ration  the  time  and  some  other  circumstances  known  to  Mr.  Vaughan,  thf 
probabilities  were  that  it  was  the  expected  vessel. 

Whether  or  no,  the  planter  was  determined  that  the  programme  he  had 
•o  ingeniously  sketched  out  should  not  be  spoiled  by  any  mismanage- 
ment in  the  performance;  and  its  execution  was  ordered  upon  the  ii- 
•tant. 

Bells  were  rung  for  a  general  muster  of  the  domestics ;  a  horn  was 
Bounded  to  summons  the  overseer  ;  and,  in  less  than  half  an  hour  after- 
wards, the  family  barouche — a  handsome  equipage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of > 
splendidly  caparisoned  horses — was  on  the  road  to  the  Bay,  with  the 
overseer  on  horseback,  riding  as  an  escort  behind  it. 

In  rear  of  this  went  a  wagon,  to  which  eight  large  oxen  were  attached ; 
and  behind  the  wagon  appeared  an  escort  sui  generis:  a  rough  negro  boy, 
mounted  on  the  shaggiest  and  scraggiest  of  steeds,who  was  no  other  than 
the  post-boy  already  mentioned — the  identical  Quashie. 

Quashie  was  not  now  on  his  usual  diurnal  duty :  his  present  errand 
was  one  of  a  far  more  important  character. 

At  this  moment  the  great  hah1  of  Mount  Welcome  exhibited  a  scene 
that,  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  to  Weat  Indian  customs,  might  have  ap- 
peared curious  enough. 

Scattered  over  the  floor,  at  certain  distances  from  each  other,  were 
some  six  or  eight  negro  girls,  or  "  wetiches,"  as  there  called,  most  of 
them  being  of  the  younger  brood  of  the  plantation.  All  were  down  on 
their  knees,  each  one  having  by  her  side,  and  within  reach  of  her  hand, 
an  orange  freshly  cut  in  halves,  some  bees'  wax,  and  a  portion  of  the 
fibrous  pericarp  of  a  cocoa-nut. 

The  floor  itself  was  without  carpet  of  any  kind,  and,  instead  of  being 
of  plain  deal,  it  presented  a  mosaic  of  hard  woods,  of  different  colours — 
among  which  might  be  recognised  the  mahogany  and  heart-wood,  the 
bread-nut,  and  bully-tree. 

To  give  the  tesselated  surface  a  polish  was  the  businesi  of  the  dark 
damsels  on  their  knees  ;  for  that  purpose  were  the  oranges  and  cocoa- 
husks  provided, 

To  an  islander  the  sight  was  one  of  common,  indeed,  daily  occurrence. 
The  polish  of  his  hall  floor  is  a  matter  of  pride  with  a  Jamaica  planter  ;  as 
much  so  as  the  quality  or  pattern  of  his  drawing-room  carpet  to  a  ho  nee- 
holder  at  home  ;  and  every  day,  and  at  the  same  hour,  the  dark-skim ieH 
housemaids  make  their  appearance,  and  renew  their  glitter  of  the  surface, 
whose  gloss  has  been  tarnished  by  the  revels  of  the  preceding  night 

The  hour  set  apart  for  this  quaint  custom  is  just  before  layiwg  the 
cloth  for  dinner — about  three  or  four  o'clock ;  and  that  they  may  not 
sully  the  polish  while  carrying  in  the  dishes,  these  barefooted  Abigails 
adopt  a  plan  that  deserves  mention  on  account  of  its  originality. 

Each  having  provided  herself  with  two  small  pieces  of  linen  or  cotton 
d>th,  spreads  them  out  upon  the  floor,  and  then  places  a  foot  upon  each. 
As  the  toes  of  a  West  Indian  house  wench  are  almost  as  prehensile  as  her 
lingers,  she  finds  no  difficulty  in  "  cramping  "  the  cloth  and  holding  it  be- 
tween the  "  big-toe  "  and  its  nearnest  neighbour ;  and  with  this  simple  chau* 
9*r:  she  is  euabled  to  slide-  over  the  Boor,  without  in  the  bast  degree 


KATE  AND    TOLA.  49 

H  sinoutching  "  its  gloss,  or  leaving  any  sign  of  her  passage  ovor  the 
shining  surface. 

While  such  a  busy  scene  was  transpiring  in  the~  great  hall  of  Mount 
Welcome,  one  of  a  different  character,  but  of  equal  activity,  was  going 
on  in  the  kitchen  of  the  establishment.  This  "  office  "  stood  a  little  apart 
from  the  main  dwelling,  communicating  with  the  lower  storey  of  the  lat- 
ter by  a  covered  passage.  Along  this,  black  and  yellow  wenches  could 
be  seen  constantly  going  and  returning,  each  with  her  load — a  haunch  o 
venison,  a  ham  of  the  wild  hog,  a  turtle,  ramier  pigeons,  and  rnountaii  j 
crabs,  all  on  their  way  to  the  spit,  the  stew-pan,  or  the  chafing-dish. 

A  similar  sight  might  have  been  witnessed  at  Mount  Welcome  any  ] 
other  day  in  the  year,  but  perhaps  with  a  less  abundant  variety  in  the 
materials,  and  with  not  half  so  much  movement  among  the  staff  of 
wenches  pertaining  to  the  cuisine — whose  excited  manner  in  the  per- 
formance of  their  specific  duties  testified,  as  much  as  the  variety  of 
luxuries  lying  around,  that  on  this  particular  day  a  repast  of  the  most 
sumptuous  kind  was  expected  from  their  hands. 

The  custos  did  not  leave  the  preparations  to  be  made  without  his  own 
personal  surveillance.  From  the  time  that  the  ship  had  ben  descried  he 
was  everywhere — in  the  stable,  to  look  after  the  sable  grooms  ;  in  the 
kitchen,  to  instruct  the  cooks  ;  in  the  great  hall,  to  inspect  the  polish  of 
the  floor  ;  and,  at  last,  on  the  landing  outside,  standing,  telescope  to  hia 
eye,  and  looking  down  the  long  avenue,  where  the  carriage  containing 
his  distinguished  vis  tor  might  at  any  moment  be  expected  to  appear. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

KATE  AND  TOLA. 

IK  one  corner  of  the  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome — that  which  was  far- 
thest removed  from  the  din  and  clangor  of  the  kitchen — was  a  small 
chamber  richly  and  elegantly  furnished.  The  light  was  admitted  into  it 
on  two  sides  through  jalousied  windows,  that,  when  open,  left  a  free 
passage  from  the  floor  to  a  little  balcony  outside,  with  which  each  of  the 
windows  was  provided. 

One  of  them  looked  to  the  rearward,  commanding  a  view  of  the  back 
garden,  and  the  wooded  steep  beyond ;  the  other  opened  to  the  left  si<H 
of  the  house,  upon  the  shrubbery  grounds  that  extended  in  that  direc- 
tion as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  ridge.  Even  had  there  been  no  one  in  thw 
little  chamber,  the  style  and  character  of  its  furniture  would  have  to!4 
that  the  person  to  whom  it  appertained  was  one  of  the  gentler  sex.  la 
one  corner  stood  a  bed  with  carved  posts  of  yellow  lancewood,  from 
which  hung  what  at  first  sight  might  have  been  taken  for  white  muslin 
curtains,  but  whick,  on  closei  scrutiny,  were  seen  to  be  the  gauze-like 
netting  of  a  "  mosqueto  bar."  The  size  of  the  bed  told  that  it  was  in- 
tended for  but  one  individual :  its  habitual  occupant  was  therefore  un- 
married. 

In  the  bay  of  one  of  the  windows  stood  a  dressing  table  •€  papier* 
,  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl ;  and  upon  this  was  placed  a  mirror  of] 


00  KATE   AND   TOLA. 

circular  shape  on  a  stand  of  the  finest  Spanish  mahogany  In  front  oi 
the  mirror  was  a  variety  of  objects  of  different  forms — among  which  migr.4 
be  noticed  the  usual  implements  of  the  toilet,  with  many  of  thoae  littia 
articles  of  luxe  and  vertu,  that  bespeak  the  refined  presence  of  women. 
Other  piece  of  furniture  in  the  room  were  three  or  four  Chinese  cane 
fchairs  ;  a  small  marqueterie  table  ;  a  work-box  of  tortoiseshell  veneer,  on 
a  pedestal  of  like  material ;  and  a  little  cabinet  of  ebony  wood  richly  in- 
laid with  buhl. 

There  was  neither  mantel  nor  fire-plaoe — the  climate  of  eternal  sura 
Her  precluding  all  necessity  for  such  a  thing.  The  window  curtaini 
were  of  a  thin  transparent  muslin,  with  a  pattern  of  pink  flowering 
woven  in  the  stuff,  and  bordered  with  a  fringe  of  alternate  pink  and 
white  tassels.  The  breeze,  blowing  in  through  the  open  lattice-work  of 
the  jalousies,  kept  these  light  hangings  almost  continually  in  motion,  im- 
parting an  aspect  of  coolness  to  the  chamber,  heightened  by  the  glossy 
smoothness  of  the  bard  wood  flooi,  which  glistened  like  a  mirror. 

No  one  could  have  glanced  into  this  little  apartment,  without  being 
struck  with  its  costly  yet  chaste  adornment.  Rich  and  eleganfcf- however, 
as  was  the  case,  it  was  no  more  than  worthy  of  the  jewel  which  it  was  ac- 
customed to  contain.  It  was  the  bedroom  and  boudoir  of  "  lilly  Quashe- 
ba,"  the  heiress  presumptive  of  Mount  Welcome. 

But  few  were  ever  favoured  with  a  glance  into  that  luxurious  cham- 
ber. It  was  a  sacred  precinct  into  which  curious  eyes  were  not  per- 
mitted to  penetrate.  Its  polished  floor  was  not  to  be  trodden  by  vulgar 
feet.  With  the  exception  of  her  father,  no  man  had  ever  intruded 
into  that  virgin  shrine  ;  and  he,  only  on  rare  and  extraordinary  occasions. 
Even  to  the  domestics  it  was  not  free  access.  Only  one  could  enter  it 

unbidden — the  brown-skinned  hand-maid  of  its  mistress. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

On  that  same  day — shortly  after  the  ringing  of  the  bells  had  announc- 
ed the  arrival  of  the  English  ship,  and  while  the  dusky  domestics  were 
engaged,  as  described,  in  their  ante-prandial  preparations — two  indivi- 
duals occupied  the  chamber  in  question.  One  was  the  young  lady  to 
whom  the  apartment  appertained— the  other  her  maid  Tola.  They  were  in 
different  attitudes  :  the  former  seated  upon  one  of  the  Chinese  chairs  in 
front  of  the  window,  while  the  maid  was  standing  behind,  occupied  in 
dressing  her  mistress's  hair. 

The  girl  was  just  entering  upon  her  task — if  we  may  so  designate  that 
whi':h  might  have  been  esteemed  a  pleasure.  Already  the  complicated 
machinery  of  combs  and  hair-pins  lay  strewed  over  the  table  ;  and  the 
long  chesnut-coloured  tresses  hung  in  luxuriant  profusion  around  thosa 
shoulders  of  snow,  in  whose  velvet-like  epidermis  there  appeared  no 
trace  of  the  taint. 

Involuntarily  the  maid  ceased  from  her  task,  and  stood  gazing  at  her 
voting  mistress  with  a  look  of  instinctive  admiration. 

a  Oh  1  beautiful !"  exclaimed  she,  in  a  low,  murmured  voice ;  "  yom 
beautiful,  inissa  1" 

*  Tut,  Tola,  'tis  only  flattery  of  you  to  say  so.  You  are  as  beautiful  a* 
I ;  Jfcly  your  beauty  is  of  a  different  order  No  doubt,  in  your  country 
YovFWould  bo  a  great  belle  ?" 


KATE   AND    TOLA.  51 

*Ah,  missa,  you  belle  anywhere — black  man — white  man-«  -all  yo* 
think  a  belle,  all  you  admire." 

*'  Thank  you,  Tola !  but  I  shouldn't  particularly  desire  to  be  the  object 
of  such  universal  admiration.  For  my  part,  I  done  know  one  male  biped 
in  whose  eyes  I  care  to  appear  attractive." 

"Perhaps  missa  no  say  so  when  come  ycung  buckra  from  Inglii 
Country." 

"  Which  buckra  ? — there  are  two  of  them  expected  from  the  "JSngliifc 
cruntry." 

"  Tola  not  hear  two  come.     Massa,  he  speak  only  one." 

"  Oh,  you've  heard-  speak  of  one  only.  Did  you  hear  his  name  moD> 
tioned  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  grand  man — Sultan  of  Mongew.  Other  name  Tola  hear — she 
no  sabbey  speak  it." 

"  Ha  1  ha!  ha  !  I  don't  wonder  at  that.  It's  as  much  as  I '  sabbey'  my- 
self to  pronounce  that  second  name,  which  I  presume  to  be  Smythje.  L» 
that  the  name  you  heard  ?" 

"  That  is,  missa — he  berry  fine  gentl'man,  he  beauty  man.  The  over- 
seer massa  tell  so." 

"  Ah,  Yola  ;  your  master  is  a  man,  and  men  are  not  always  the  best 
judges  of  one  another's  looks.  Perhaps  the  Sultan  of  Montagu,  as  you 
call  him,  might  not  be  such  a  pattern  of  perfection  as  papa  describes  him, 
But,  no  doubt,  we  shall  soon  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  our- 
selves.  Did  you  hear  your  master  tell  the  overseer  nothing  about  an- 
other buckra  that  is  expected  ?" 

"  No,  missa.     One  only  he  speak  of — he  same  one  of  Mongew  Castle." 

A  low  ejaculation,  expressive  of  disappointment,  escaped  the  lips  of 
the  young  Creole,  as  her  head  settled  down  into  an  attitude  of  silent  re- 
flection, her  eyes  turned  upon  the  shining  floor  at  her  feet.  It  is  not  easy 
to  tell  why  she  put  the  last  interrogatory  to  her  maid.  Perhaps  she  had 
some  suspicion  of  her  father's  plans.  At  all  events,  she  knew  there  was 
some  mystery,  and  was  desirous  of  penetrating  it.  The  maid  was  still 
gazing  upon  her,  when  all  at  once  the  dark  Arab-like  features  of  the 
latter  assumed  a  changed  expression — the  look  of  admiration  giving 
place  to  one  of  inquiry,  as  if  some  idea  had  occurred  to  her. 

"  Allah !"  muttered  the  girl,  as  she  gazed  earnestly  in  the  face  of  hei 
mistress. 

"  Well,  Yola,"  said  the  latter,  attracted  by  the  exclamation,  and  looking 
dp  at  her  attendant, "  why  do  you  exclaim  Allah  ?  Has  anything  occurred 
to  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  beauty  missa  I  you  so  like  one  man." 

"  I  like  a  man  ?    I  resemble  a  man  ?    Is  that  what  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,  missa." 

"  Well,  Yola,  you  are  certainly  not  flattering  me  now.  Who  might  this 
man  be  ?  I  pray  you  tell  me." 

"  He  man  of  the  mountains— Maroon." 

"  Oh  !  worse  and  worse  I  I  resemble  a  Maroon  ?  Gracious  me  1  Surel/ 
you  are  jesting,  Yola  ?" 

"  Oh  1  missa,  he  beauty  man  ;  roun'  black  eyes  that  glance  like  fire-fliei 
like  yours — berry,  berry  like  you  eyes,  missa," 


2  KATE  AND  TOLA. 

"  Come,  »illy  girl  I"  said  the  young  lady,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  reproval 
more  affected  than  real ;  "  do  you  know  that  it  is  very  naughty  of  you,  to 
compare  me  to  a  Maroon  ?" 

"  Oh !  Missa  Kate,  he  beauty  man — berry  beauty  man.'* 

"  That  I  doubt  very  much ;  but  even  were  it  so,  you  should  riot  speak 
of  his  resembling  me  ' 

"  Me  paidon,  missa,     I  not  more  so  say." 

"  No,  you  had  better  not,  good  Tola.  If  you  do  I  shall  ask  papa  to  sell 
jou." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  gentle  raillery,  which  told  that  the  intention 
of  carrying  out  the  threat  was  far  from  the  speaker's  thoughts. 

"  By-the-bye,  Yola,"  continued  the  young  lady,  "  I  could  get  a  good 
price  for  you.  flow  much  do  you  suppose  was  offered  for  you  the  other 
day." 

"  Missa  Kate,  I  know  not.  Allah  forbid  me  you  ebber  leave.  If  you 
no  more  my  missa,  I  care  not  more  to  live." 

"  Thanks,  Yola,"  said  the  young  creole,  evidently  touched  by  the  words 
of  her  maid,  the  sincerity  of  which  was  proved  by  the  tone  in  which 
they  were  spoken.  "  Be  not  afraid  of  my  parting  with  you.  As  proof 
that  I  shall  not,  I  refused  a  very  large  sum — how  much  can  you  guess." 

"  Ah !  missa,  I  worth  nothing  to  no  one  but  you.    If  I  you  leave  I  die.* 

"  Well,  there  is  one  who  thinks  you  worth  two  hundred  pounds,  andhaa 
offered  that  for  you." 

"  Who  he,  missa  ?" 

"  Why — he  who  sold  you  to  papa — Mr.  Jessuron." 

"  Allah  protect  poor  Yola!  Oh!  missa  Kate,  he  bad  master  ;  he  berry 
wicked  man.  Yola  die — Gubina  kill  her  I  Yola  self  kill  if  she  sold  back 
to  wicked  slave-dealer  I  Good  missa ! — oeauty  missa ! — you  no  sell  you 
poor  slave  ?" 

The  girl  fell  upon  her  knees  at  the  feet  of  her  young  mistress,  with 
her  hands  claaped  over  her  head,  and  remained  for  some  moments  in  this 
attitude. 

"Don't  fear  my  selling  you,"  said  the  young  lady,  motioning  the  sup- 
pliant to  rise  to  her  feet ;  "  least  of  all  to  him,  whom  I  believe  to  be 
what  you  have  styled  him,  a  very  wicked  man.  Have  no  fear  for  that 
But  tell  me,  what  name  was  that  you  pronounced  just  now  ?  Cubina,  was 
It  not?" 

"  Yes,  missa,  Cubina," 

"  And,  pray  who  is  Cubina  ?" 

The  brown  maid  hesitated  before  making  reply,  while  the  crimson  be- 
^au  to  show  itself  on  her  chesnut-coloured  cheeks. 

"  Oh  I  never  mind !"  said  her  young  mistress,  noticing  her  hesitation. 
14  If  there's  any  secret,  Yola,  I  shall  not  insist  upon  an  answer." 

"  Missa,  from  you  Yola  not  have  secret.  Cubina  he  mountain  man-- 
Maroon." 

"  What !  is  he  the  Maroon  I  am  supposed  to  resemble  t" 

"  True  missa,  he  same." 

"  Oh  !  I  see  how  it  is  then — I  suppose  that  that  accounts  for  you  think 
ihg  me  beautiful  ?  This  Cubina,  no  doubt,  is  a  sweetheart  of  yours  ?" 

Yola  hung  her  head  without  making  reply  The  crimson  spread  mort 
Widely  over  the  chesnut 


TWO   TfcAVELLEfcS   FOB   THE   SAME   BOURNE.  {>3 

**  You  need  riot  answer,  good  Tola,"  said  the  young  Creole,  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile.  "  1  know  what  your  answer  ought  to  be  if  you  spoke  your 
mind.  I  think  I  have  heard  of  this  Cubina.  Have  a  care !  these  Maroons 
are  a  very  different  sort  of  men  from  the  coloured  people  "oh  the  planta- 
tions. Like  me,  he  is  !  ha !  ha  ha !"  and  the  young  beauty  glanced  coyly 
at  the  mirror  "  Well,  Tola ;  I'm  not  angry  with  you,  since  it  is  your 
sweetheart  with  whom  I  am  compared.  Love,  they  say,  is  a  wonder- 
ful beautifier  ;  and  no  doubt  Master  Cubina  is,  in  your  eyes,  a  perfect 
Bndymicn. 

"Come!"  added  she,  after  a  pause  and  another  spell  of  laughter,  "I 
fear  we  have  been  wasting  time.  If  I'm  not  ready  to  receive  this  grand 
guest,  I'll  get  into  trouble  with  papa.  Haste,  Tola!  and  dress  me  out  in 
a  style  becoming  the  mistress  of  Mount  Welcome." 

With  a  peal  of  merry  laughter  at  the  air  of  grandeur  she  had  thui 
jestingly  assumed,  the  young  lady  bent  down  her  head,  submitting  her 
magnificent  chevdwe  to  the  manipulation  of  her  maid. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TWO  TRAVELLERS  FOR  THE  SAME  BOURNK. 

MR.  MONTAOU  SMYTHJE  had  voyaged  all  the  way  from  Liverpool  to 
Jamaica,  without  ever  having  set  his  foot  one  inch  over  that  line  which 
(separates  the  sacred  precinct  of  the  quarter-deck  from  the  less  respected 
midships  and  for'ard  part  of  the  vessel.  Beyond  the  main  mast  he  had  not 
been.  Thus,  rarely — except  when  the  ship  was  sailing  close  upon  a  wind 
— did  the  tarry  frequenters  of  the  forecastle  come  between  the  breeze 
and  Mr.  Smythje's  nasal  susceptibility. 

As  the  Sea  Nymph  was  not  a  regular  packet,  or  "  royal  liner,"  but  only  an 
ordinary  merchant  vessel  incidentally  carrying  a  few  passengers,  no  very 
strict  rules  were  observed  as  to  quarter-deck  privileges.  Of  course,  the 
common  sailors  were  not  allowed  to  violate  the  usual  custom  ;  and  these 
only  visited  the  quarter-deck,  when  the  necessities  of  duty,  more  imperi- 
ous than  the  most  despotic  skipper,  required  their  presence  there.  The 
( steerage  passengers,  however,  with  the  exception  that  they  might  not 
enter  the  cabin,  had  the  freedom  of  the  whole  vessel ;  and  might  lounge 
along  the  poop,  or  pace  the  quarter-deck  itself  if  so  inclined.  Most,  in- 
deed all,  of  them,  with  one  exception,  had  from  time  to  time  felt  Ibis  in- 
clination, and  taking  advantage  of  the  favour  allowed  them — in  fine 
weather  passing  the  greater  part  of  their  time  abaft  the  binnacle,  or  else- 
where around  the  cabin.  The  one  exception  to  this  rule  was  the  young 
man  already  mentioned  and  described — the  amateur  artist. 

During  the  long  voyage  of  six  weeks,  he  had  never  sot  foot  on  the 
quarter-deck,  nor,  indeed,  was  he  much  to  be  seen  upon  deck.  As  a 
general  thing  he  kept  himself  below ;  though  when  the  weather  was 
temptingly  fine,  he  might  be  observed  silently  climbing  the  shrouds,  and 
•eating  himself  on  the  fore-mast  head— where  book  in  hand,  he  would  re- 
i  for  hours  together. 


54  TWO   TRAVfttftimS   FO^  TTTR   SAME  BOTTfcS*. 

The  spriteail  yard,  too,  was  another  favourite  locality  with  him  ;  and 
there,  stretched  along  the  furled  sail,  he  would  lie,  gazing  down  into  the 
blue  water,  as  if  watching  the  movements  of  the  turquoise-hued  dolphini 
fchat  might  be  seen  almost  constantly  gliding  beneath,  as  if  deputed  by 
Neptune  to  form  an  escort  to  the  ship. 

It  was  not  that  the  young  fellow  was  of  a  gloomy  or  solitary  disposi- 
tion, for  at  other  times  he  might  be  seen  diving  down  through  the  trap, 
like  hatchway  of  the  forecastle  ;  and  the  clear  ring  of  his  voice,  mingling 
in  jest  and  laughter  with  those  of  the  jolly  Jack  tars,  proved  that  hii 
uatnral  inclination  was  neither  saturnine  nor  anti-social. 

That  he  was  a  great  favourite  with  "  Jack"  was  certain. 

Evidence  of  this  is  found  in  the  fact  that,  while  crossing  the  "  lino*1 
(Jack  regards  the  tropic  of  Cancer  as  the  "  line,"  when  the  real  one,  the 
equator,  does  not  come  within  the  limits  of  his  voyage) — while  crossing 
the  line,  Neptune  did  not  insist  on  shaving  him  with  hig  rough  razor  ;  al- 
though he  was  too  poor  to  have  escaped  the  operation  by  bribing  the 
barbers  of  the  sea-god.  The  god  was  less  lenient  with  Mr.  Montagu 
Smythje,  who  was  compelled  to  pay  no  less  than  six  bottles  of  rum,  with 
sundry  plugs  of  tobacco,  to  preserve  his  elegant  whiskers  and  mouataches 
from  the  pollution  of  tar  and  "  tub  fat."  Why  the  young  steerage  passen- 
ger thus  kept  himself  clear  of  the  quarter-deck,  and  shunned  communion 
with  the  denizens  of  the  cabin,  was  a  mystery  to  those  who  chanced  to 
speculate  upon  the  circumstance  ;  though  after  all,  there  was  not  much 
mystery  about  his  behaviour.  Doubtless,  he  was  actuated  by  a  certain 
personal  pride,  and  felt  humiliated  by  his  inferior  position  as  a  steerage 
passenger — a  feeling  natural  enough,  though,  perhaps,  not  very  com- 
mendable. He  knew  the  allowance  of  the  quarter-deck  to  those  of  his 
class  was  a  courtesy,  not  a  privilege  ;  and  being  one  of  those  independ 
ent  spirits  who  refuse  to  accept  that  which  they  cannot  claim  as  a  righ% 
he  had  declined  to  avail  himself  of  the  quarter-deck  courtesy. 

Since  he  had  never  been  aft,  and  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  had  as  re- 
ligiously abstained  from  venturing  forward,  it  was  not  likely  that  much 
conversation  had  passed  between  the  two.  In  truth,  thero  had  not  been 
any — not  even  the  exchange  of  a  word — during  the  whole  voyage. 

Of  course  the  two  young  men  had  often  seen  each  other,  and  were 
perfectly  familiar  each  with  the  other's  face.  Smythje  had  even  noticed 
the  peculiarity  of  his  fellow-voyager,  in  keeping  apart  from  the  rest,  anil 
had  pronounced  him  a  "  demried  queeaw  fella w" — a  description  which 
the  latter — in  thought,  if  not  in  speech — had  no  doubt  reciprocated. 

The  cockney  exquisite,  moreover — notwithstanding  the  paucity  of  hi§ 
reflective  powers — had  gradually  become  inspired  with  a  certain  degree 
of  curiosity  as  to  who  and  what  the  "  queeaw  fellaw"  might  be.  More 
than  once  he  had  put  this  question  to  the  captain  and  others  ;  but  all 
these,  equally  with  himself,  were  ignorant  of  the  antecedents  of  the 
steerage  passenger. 

"  Know  nothing  about  him/'  said  the  blunt  skipper ;  "  nothing  what- 
ever. Came  aboard  the  day  before  we  sailed,  with  an  old  portmanteau, 
paid  his  passage  money,  and  took  possession  of  his  berth — that's  all  I 
know." 

"  Demned  queaaw  fellaw  1"  reiterated  Mr.  Smythje,  for  the  tweniietn 


TWO  TRAVELLERS  FOR  THE  SAME  BOURNE.      55 

*irae.  "  Aw — aw — should  ask  himself  if  thaw  was  an  oppawtunity  ;  bu< 
the  odd  animal  nevaw  comes  this  way — aw  cawnt  undawtake  a  jawn^y 
up  yawndaw — the  place  smells  abawinnably  of  taw." 

The  "  oppawtunity"  thus  desired  turned  up  at  length  ;  but  only  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  In  the  very  last  hour  of  the  voyage — just  as  the  Set 
Nymph  was  heading  in  to  the  harbour — the  passengers  of  all  degrees 
Walked  towards  the  ship's  head  in  order  to  get  a  better  view  of  the 
glorious  landscape  now  unfolding  itself  before  them  ;  and  the  exquisite, 
yielding  to  a  curiosity  so  general,  went  forward  among  the  rest.  Having 
gained  at  elevated  standpoint  upon  the  top  of  the  windlass,  he  adjusted 
his  glass  to  his  eye,  and  commenced  ogling  the  landscape,  whose  details 
were  now  near  enough  to  be  distinguished.  Not  for  long,  however,  did 
Mr.  Smythje  remain  silent,  for  he  was  not  one  of  a  saturnine  habit.  The 
fair  scene  had  inspired  him  with  a  poetical  fervour,  which  soon  found  ex- 
pression in  characteristic  speech. 

"  Dooced  pwetty,  'pon  honaw  1"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  would  make  a  splen- 
did dwop  scene  faw  a  theataw.  Don't  you  think  so,  my  good  fwend  ?"  ad- 
d*d  he,  addressing  "himself  somewhat  presumingly  to  a  person  who  was 
standing  by  his  side. 

"  Really,  my  good  fwend,"  replied  the  person  addressed,  and  who 
chanced  to  be  the  young  steerage  passenger,  "  I  think  that  altogether  de- 
pends upon  the  subject  that  may  have  been  chosen  for  your  d  wop-scene." 
Notwithstanding  the  satirical  wording  of  the  reply,  it  was  uttered  with- 
out any  evidence  of  ill-nature.  On  the  contrary,  a  good-humoured  smile 
curled  upon  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  at  the  same  time  that  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  exquisite,  with  a  somewhat  quizzical  expression. 

"  Aw — haw — it  is  yaw,  my  young  fellaw,"  said  the  latter,  now  for  the 
first  time  perceiving  to  whom  he  had  made  his  appeal.  "  Aw,  indeed  I" 
he  continued,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  cynical  attitude  which  the 
other  had  asumed.  "  Aw !  a  veway  stwange  individwal ! — incompwe- 
hensibly  stwange.  May  aw  ask — pawdon  the  liberty — what  is  bwing- 
ing  yaw  out  heaw — to  Jamaica,  aw  mean  ?" 

"  That,"  replied  the  steerage  passenger,  slightly  nettled  at  this  rather 
free  style  of  interrogation,  "  which  is  bringing  yourself — the  good  ship 
Bea  Nymph." 

"  Aw,  haw  !  indeed  I  Good— veway  good  I  But,  my  deaw  saw,  that 
is  not  what  aw  meant." 

"No?" 

fc  No,  aw  ashcw  yaw.  Aw  meant  what  bwisness  bwings  yaw  her« 
P*waps  you  have  some  pwofession  ?" 

"  No,  not  any,  I  ashow  yaw." 

"  A  twade,  then  ?" 

w  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  not  even  a  twade.** 

"  No  pwofession  i  no  twade !  what  the  dooce  daw  yaw  intend  da  wing 
in  Jamaica  ?  P'waps  yaw  expect  the  situation  of  bookkeepaw  on  a 
pwantation,  or  niggaw  dwiver.  Neithaw,  aw  believe,  requiaws  mnch 
expewienco,  as  aw  am  told,  the  bookkeepaw  has  pwositively  no  books 
to  keep — haw!  haw  1  and  showly  any  fellaw,  howevaw  igpowant,  may. 
dwive  a  niggaw.  Is  that  yaw  expectation,  my  worthy  fwend  ?" 

"  I  have  no  expectation,  one  way,  or  another  "  replied  the  young  man. 


56  TWO  TRAVELLERS   FOR  THE   SAME  BOURNE. 

in  a  tone  of  careless  indifference.  "  AB  to  the  buisness  I  maj  foJlow  oat 
here  in  Jamaica,  that,  I  suppose,  win  depend  on  the  will  of  another.** 

"  Anothaw  1  aw  ! — who,  pway  ?" 

"  My  uncle." 

"  Aw,  indeed !  yaw  have  an  uncle  in  Jamaica,  then  T" 

"  I  have — if  he  be  still  alive." 

"Aw — hawl  yaw  are  not  sure  of  that  intewesting  fact?  P'w»p# 
jraw've  not  heard  from  him  wately  ?" 

"  Not  for  years,1'  replied  the  young  steerage  passenger,  his  poor  pro* 
pects  now  having  caused  him  to  relinquish  the  satirical  tone  he  had  a» 
•umed.  "  Not  for  years,"  repeated  he,  "  though  I've  written  to  him,  to 
say  that  I  should  come  by  this  ship." 

"  Veway  stwange  1  And,  pway,  may  I  ask  what  bwisness  yaw  nncle 
follows  ?" 

"  He  is  a  planter,  I  believe." 

"  A  sugaw  plantaw  ?" 

11  Yes — he  was  so  when  we  last  heard  from  him.** 

"  Aw,  then,  p'waps  he  is  wich — a  pwopwietor.  In  that  case  he  may 
find  something  faw  yaw  to  daw  bettew  than  niggaw-dwiving  ;  make  yaw 
his  ovawseeaw  ?  May  aw  know  yaw  name  !" 

u  Quite  welcome.    Herbert  Vaughan  is  rny  name." 

"  Vawn !  repeated  the  exquisite,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  some  newly 
awakened  interest ;  "  Vawn,  do  aw  understand  yaw  to  say  ?" 

"  Herbert  Vaughan,"  replied  the  young  man,  with  firmer  emphasis. 

"  And  yaw  uncle's  name  ?" 

"He  is  also  called  Vaughan.  He  is  my  father's  brother — or  rather 
was — my  father  is  dead." 

"  Not  Woftus  Vawn,  Esq.,  of  Mount  Welcome  1" 

"  Loftus  is  my  uncle's  baptismal  appellation,  and  Mount  Welcome  is,  I 
believe,  the  name  of  his  estate." 

"Veway  stwange  1  incompwehensibly  stwange!  D'yaw  know,  my 
young  fellaw,  that  yaw  and  aw  appeaw  to  be  making  faw  the  same  pawt. 
Woftus  Vawn,  of  Mount  Welcome,  is  the  twustwee  of  my  own  pwoperty 
—the  veway  fellaw  to  whom  aw  am  consigned.  Deaw  me  1  how  dooced 
stwange  yaw  and  aw  should  be  guests -undaw  the  same  woof!"  The  re- 
mark was  accompanied  by  a  supercilious  glance,  that  did  not  escape  tho 
observation  of  the  young  steerage  passenger.  It  was  this  glance  that 
gave  the  true  signification  of  the  words,  -\lhich  Herbert  Vaughan  inter- 
preted as  an  insult.  He  was  on  the  point  of  making  an  appropriate  re- 
joinder, when  the  exquisite  abruptly  turned  away — as  he  parted  drawt 
ing  out  some  words  of  leave-taking,  with  the  presumptive  conjecture 
that  they  might  meet  again. 

Herbert  Vaughan  stood  for  a  moment  looking  after  him,  an  expression 
of  high  contempt  curling  upon  his  lip.  Only  for  a  short  while,  however, 
did  this  show  itself ;  and  then,  his  countenance  resuming  its  habitual 
expression  of  good  nature,  he  descended  into  the  steerage,  to  propar« 
bis  somewhat  scanty  baggage  for  the  debarkation. 


QUASH1E.  57 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

QUA8HIE. 

IK  less  tLan  half  an  hour  after  the  brief  conversation  between  Mr, 
Montagu  Smythje  and  the  young  steerage  passenger,  the  Sea  Nymph  had 
got  warped  into  port,  and  was  lying  alongside  the  wharf. 

A  gangway-plank  was  stretched  from  the  shore  :  and  over  this,  men 
*nd  women,  of  all  shades  of  colour,  from  blonde  to  ebony  black,  and  of 
»8  many  different  callings,  came  crowding  aboard  ;  while  the  passengers 
lick  of  the  ship  and  everything  belonging  to  her,  hastened  to  go  ashore. 

Half-naked  porters — black,  brown,  and  yellow — were  wrangling  over 
the  luggage — dragging  trunks,  boxes,  and  bags  in  every  direction  but 
the  right  one,  and  clamouring  their  gumbo  jargon  with  a  volubility  that 
resembled  the  jabbering  of  apes. 

On  the  wharf  appeared  a  number  of  wheeled  vehicles,  that  had  evi- 
dently been  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  ship — not  hackneys,  as  would 
have  been  the  case  in  a  European  port,  but  private  carriages — some  of 
them  handsome  "  curricles,"  drawn  by  a  pair,  and  driven  by  black  Jehus 
in  ftvery  :  others  only  gigs  with  a  single  horse,  or  other  two  wheelers  of 
even  an  inferior  description,  according  to  the  wealth  or  style  of  the 
individual  for  whose  transport  each  had  been  brought  to  the  port. 
.  Wagons,  too,  with  teams  of  oxen — some  having  eight  in  the  yoke — 
atood  near  the  landing-place,  waiting  for  baggage  :  the  naked  black  driv 
ers  lounging  silently  by  the  animals,  or  occasionally  calling  them  by 
their  names,  and  talking  to  them  just  as  if  their  speeches  had  been  un- 
derstood. 

I  Among  the  different  carriages  ranged  along  the  wharf,  a  handsome 
barouche  appeared  conspicuous.  It  was  attached  to  a  pair  of  cream- 
coloured  horses,  splendidly  harnessed.  A  mulatto  coachman  sat  upon 
the  box,  shining  in  a  livery  of  lightest  green,  with  yellow  facings  ; 
while  a  footman,  in  garments  of  like  hue,  attended  at  the  carriage  step, 
holding  the  door  for  some  one  to  get  in. 

i  Herbert  Vaughan,  standing  on  the  fore-deck  of  the  Sea  Nymph — as  yet 
nndecided  as  to  whether  he  should  then  go  ashore — had  noticed  this 
magnificent  equipage.  He  was  still  gazing  upon  it,  when  his  attention 
was  attracted  to  two  gentlemen,  who,  having  walked  direct  from  the  ves- 
sel, had  just  arrived  by  the  side  of  the  carriage.  A  white  servant  fol- 
lowed them  ;  and  behind  were  two  negro  attendants  carrying  a  number 
of  parcels  of  light  luggage.  One  of  the  gentlemen  and  the  white  servant 
(were  easily  recognised  by  Herbert :  for  both  had  been  his  fellow-passen- 
jgers.  They  were  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  and  his  valet.  The  other,  who 
jftppeared  to  act  as  chaperone,  was  of  the  island,  and  the  two  negro  at- 
|tendante  were  his.  Herbert  now  recalled  the  odd  expression  made  use 
jof,  but  the  moment  before,  by  the  fop — that  he  was  "  consigned  "  to  the 
prcrprietor  of  Mount  Welcome.  Was  the  carriage  from  Mount  Welcome  ? 
And  was  the  bland-looking  gentleman,  who  accompanied  it,  his  uncle  ? 
JEIo — the  man  was  too  young  for  that  ?  and,  moreover,  his  rather  welt 
jworn  coat,  and  common  duck  trousers  would  scarcely  become  the  owner 
Jof  inch  an  equipage  ?  Herbert  turned  round  and  looked  for  some  one,  tc 


58  QTTA9HIE. 

whom  lie  might  address  an  inquiry.  Plenty  of  islanders  wer«  aboard — 
whites  as  well  as  coloured  people — but  most  of  them  were  far  off — ami»i« 
eliips,  or  on  the  quarter-deck.  Only  one  veritable  native  was  within 
speaking  distance — a  negro  boy  of  such  clumsy  and  uncouth  appearance, 
that  the  young  man  hesitated  about  putting  his  interrogatory — hopelt<wi 
of  obtaining  an  intelligible  answer. 

I  As  he  scrutinised  the  darkey  with  more  care,  a  certain  twinkling  of 
| his  ejes  bespoke  more  intelligence  than  Herbert  had  at  first  given  him 
'credit  for.  Moreover,  the  boy  was  eyeing  him  with  a  fixed  regard  --at 
if  courting  an  inquiry,  or  desirous  of  making  one  himself. 

Herbert  resolved  to  seek  from  this  source  the  information  ho  rfr 
quired. 

"  Well,  my  lad ;"  said  he,  in  a  kindly  tone  ;  "  can  you  tell  me  who«e 
carriage  that  is  up  yonder — the  one  with  the  cream-coloured  horses,  and 
coachman  in  green  livery  ?" 

"  Yaw  1  yaw  1"  replied  the  young  darkey,  exhibiting  his  ivories  in  a 
broad  grin  ;  dat  yonna  massr  b'rouche.  Ebberybody  know  dat  b'rouche 
— ebberybody  in  da  Bay." 

"Whatmassa?" 

"  Why,  my  massr,  sartin  sure." 

"  And  what  might  be  your  massa's  name  ?" 

"  Him  name  ?  da  great  house  him  name — Moun'  Welc'm' — big  planta- 
tion ob  da  sugar." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Vaughan's  carriage,  then  ?" 

"  Ya,  sa,  Massr  Va'n — great  buckra." 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Vaughan  himself — he  that  is  now  mounting  his  horse  ?" 

"  Massr  Va'n — no.  Da's  only  de  oberseeah.  He  met  the  grand  buckra 
who  come  by  big  ship.  Dey  drive  out  na  Moun'  Welc'm'.  Dar  dey  go  1 
Hoop  1  how  Cudjo  whip  up  dem  hosses  1" 

The  carriage  having  received  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje,  and  the  footman 
having  mounted  the  box — leaving  the  rumble  to  the  English  valet — was 
driven  off  at  full  speed,  the  overseer  following  on  horseback  as  an  escort. 
Herbert  watched  the  receding  vehicle,  until  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  it 
from  his  view  ;  and  then,  dropping  his  eyes  towards  the  deck,  he  stood 
for  some  moments  in  a  reflective  attitude,  revolving  in  his  mind  some 
thoughts  that  were  far  from  agreeable.  He  had,  for  the  time,  forgotten 
the  darkey  ;  though  the  latter  still  remained  by  his  side,  gazing  upon 
him  with  a  marked  look  of  interrogation.  Herbert  was  reflecting  npoc 
his  own  situation.  No  one  there  to  meet  him  and  bid  him  welcome  i 
What  could  it  mean  ? 

Had  his  uncle  not  received  his  letter  ?  Surely  it  must  have  miscar- 
ried ?  In  that  case,  how  should  he  act  ?  Inquire  the  way  to  Mount 
Welcome,  and  set  out  for  it  at  once  ?  At  once  it  must  be  :  for  he  had  no 
money — not  a  crown  to  pay  for  a  lodging  in  the  town.  He  would  have  to 
walk,  too,  from  the  lack  of  the  wherewith  to  hire  a  horse.  And  then,  on 
his  arrival,  how  should  he  be  received  ?  At  Mount  Welcome  was  he  to 
find  a  welcome  ?  He  knew  nothing  of  his  uncle's  disposition  towards 
him.  For  years  the  planter  had  not  deigned  to  correspond  with  his 
father — with  himself,  never  ;  knew  nothing  of  himself,  and  he,  coming 
penniless,  poorly  clad,  and,  worse  than  all,  without  calling  or  profcssioo 
—what  reception  could  he  expect? 


TRAVELLING   AT   THE   TATL.  59 

The  countenance  of  the  young  adventurer  became  clouded  under  the  in- 
fluence of  these  thoughts  ;  and  he  stood  silently  gazing  upon  the  dock 
with  eyes  that  saw  not. 

"  Sa !"  said  the  negro  boy,  interrupting  his  reflections. 

"  Ha !  you  there  yet  ?"  rejoined  Herbert  looking  up  and  perceiving 
with  some  surprise  that  the  darkey  was  regarding  him  with  a  fixed  stare 
•*  What  might  you  want,  my  lad  ?  If  it  be  money,  I  have  none  to  give." 

"  Money,  sa  ?  wharra  fo  Quashie  want  money  ?  He  do  wha'  massr  bid 
f  oung  buckra  ready  go  now  ?" 

"  Ready  to  go !  whore  ?  what  mean  you,  boy  ?" 

44  tao  fo  da  great  house/' 

u  Great  house  !     Of  what  great  house  are  you  speaking  ?H 

"  Moun'  Welc'm'.  so — Massr  Va'n.    You  fo  Massr  Va'n,  sa  ?" 

"  What  1"  exclaimed  Herbert  in  surprise,  at  the  same  time  scanning  tho 
darkey  from  head  to  foot,  "  how  do  you  know  that,  my  boy  ?" 

"  Quashie  know  dat  well  'nuff.  Cappen  ob  da  big  ship,  obaseeah  say  so 
Obaseeah  point  out  young  buckra  from  de  waff — he  send  Quashie.  fetch 
young  buckra  to  Moun'  Welc'm'.  Ready  go  now,  sa  ?" 

"  You  are  from  Mount  Welcome,  then  ?" 

"  Ya,  sa — me  hoss-boy  da,  an'  pose-boy — fetch  pony  for  young  Englis 
buckra.  Obaseeah  he  bring  b'rouche  for  grand  Englis'  buckra.  Baggage 
dey  go  in  de  ox-wagon. ' 

"  Where  is  your  pony  !" 

"  ^P  yonna,  sa  ;  on  de  waff,  sa  ;  ready  go,  sa !" 

"  All  right,"  said  Herbert,  now  comprehending  the  situation  of  affairs, 
"  Shoulder  that  portmanteau,  then,  my  lad,  and  toss  it  into  the  wagon, 
Which  road  am  I  to  take !" 

"  Can't  miss  um  road,  sa — straight  up  da  ribber  till  you  come  to  do 
crossin'.  Dar  you  take  de  road  dat  don't  lead  to  da  leff — you  soon  see 
Moun'  Welc'm',  sa." 

"  How  far  is  it  1" 

"  'Bout  fo'  mile,  sa — reach  dar  long  'fore  sundown ;  pony  go  like  do 
berry  lightnin'.  Sure  you  keep  to  da  right  by  da  crossin'." 

Thus  instructed,  the  young  steerage  passenger  left  the  ship— aftei 
bidding  adieu  to  the  friendly  tars,  who  had  treated  him  so  handsomely 
during  his  irksome  voyage.  With  his  gun,  a  single-barrelled  fowling- 
piece,  on  his  shoulder,  he  strode  over  the  platform,  and  up  the  wooden 
wharf.  Then  detaching  the  pony  from  the  wheel  of  the  ox-wagon,  to 
which  it  had  been  tied,  he  threw  himself  into  the  saddle,  and  trotted  oil 
Along  the  road  pointed  out  as  the  one  that  would  conduct  him  to  Moun  I 
Welcome. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TRAVELLING  AT  THE  TAIL. 

THX  excitement  produced  by  the  sudden  change  from  ship  to  shore— the 
stir  of  the  streets  through  which  he  had  to  pass — foe  novel  sights  aod 


60  T&AVflLtttf  G  At  THE  TAtt. 

sounds  tkeit  at  every  step  sainted  his  eyes  and  ears — hindered  Her  her' 
Vaughan  from  thinking  of  anything  that  concerned  himself. 

Only  for  a  short  time,  however,  was  his  mind  thus  distracted  fron 
dwelling  on  his  own  affairs.     Before  he  had  ridden  far,  the  road— hither- 
to bordered  by  houses — entered  under  a  dark  canopy  of  forest  foliage  ; 
and  the  young  traveller,  all  at  once,  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  per 
feet  solitude.     Under  the  sombre  shadow  of  the  trees,  his  spirit  soon  re 
turned  to  its  former  foreboding  ;  and,  riding  more  slowly  over  a  strelcl 
jof  the  road  where  the  ground  was  wet  and  boggy  ;  he  fell  into  a  train  «f 
-thoughts  that  was  far  from  pleasant.     Indeed,  the  gloomy  expresei:e 
they  produced  upon  his  features  proclaimed  them  exceedingly  painful 
The  subjects   of  his  reflections  may  be   easily  guessed.     It  was   buf 
,   natural  his  mind  should  dwell  on  the  reception  he  was  likely  to  meet  ai 
the  hands  of  his  kinsman ;  and,  from  what  had  already  transpired,  he 
could  draw  no  very  favourable  augury  of  what  was  to  come. 

He  had  not  failed  to  notice — how  could  he  ! — the  distinction  made  be- 
tween himself  and  his  fellow-voyager.  While  a  splendid  equipage  had 
been  waiting  for  the  latter — and  his  landing  had  been  made  a  sort  of 
ovation,  under  the  superintendance  of  the  head  manager  of  his  uncle's 
estate,  assisted  by  servants  in  shining  liveries — how  different  was  the 
means  of  transport  provided  for  him  I  No  word  of  welcome,  nor  even 
recognition,  from  the  overseer — so  obsequious  to  his  fellow-passenger  1 
And  yet,  there  was  proof  positive  that  nis  letter  had  been  received  in 
due  course.  The  presence  of  the  scraggy,  ill-conditioned,  and  poorly- 
caparisoned  cob — with  the  intelligence  he  had  gathered  from  the  un- 
couth groom  who  brought  it  to  the  Bay — were  evidence  of  his  being  ex- 
pected by  his  uncle. 

The  young  man  felt  the  humiliation — not  slightly,  but  keenly ;  and 
the  longer  he  dwelt  upon  the  circumstance,  the  more  mortified  did  he 
become. 

"  By  the  memory  of  my  father  1"  muttered  he,  as  he  rode  on,  "  it  is  an 
insult  I  shall  not  overlook :  an  insult  to  him,  more  than  to  myself.    But 
for  the  fulfilment  of  his  dying  wish,  I  should  not  go  one  step  farther  ;" 
and  as  he  said  this,  he  drew  his  rough  roadster  to  a  halt,  as  if  half  re- 
solved to  put  his  hypothetic  threat  into  practice.     "  Perhaps,"  he  contin- 
ued, again  moving  forward  with  a  more  hopeful  air,  "  perhaps  there  may 
.  be  some  mistake !     But  no,"  he  added,  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the 
I  negative  monosyllable,  "  there  can  be  none  1    This  shallow  fop  is  a  young 
I  man  of  fortune — I  a  child  of  misfortune  ;"  and  he  smiled  bitterly  at  the 
'  antithesis  he  had  drawn  ;  "  that  is  the  reason  why  such  a  distinction  has 
been  made  between  us.    Be  it  so  1"  he  continued,  after  a  pause.    "  Poor 
as  I  arn,  this  churlish  relative  will  find  me  as  proud  as  himself.    I  shall 
return  him  scorn  for  scorn.    I  shall  demand  an  explanation  of  his  be- 
haviour, and  the  sooner  I  have  it  the  better." 

As  if  stimulated  by  a  sense  of  the  outrage,  as  also  by  a  half-formed 
purpose  of  retaliation,  the  young  adventurer  gave  the  whip  to  his  shag- 
gy stood,  and  dashed  onward  at  full  gallop.  The  cob  needed  no  very 
violent  driving.  Had  its  head  been  turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  the 
case  might  have  been  different ;  but  the  animal  knew  it  was  going  home- 
ward ;  and  the  attractions  of  it*  own  crib  aeted  as  the  stimulus  to  a  more 


»  TRAVELLING  AT   THE  TAIL.  61 

rapid  speed  than  the  flagellation  of  whip  or  the  pricking  of  spurs  could 
have  produced.  For  a  full  hour  was  this  gallop  continued,  without  pause 
or  slacking.  The  road  was  a  wide  one,  much  tracked  by  wheels  ;  and, 
ae  it  ran  in  a  direct  course,  the  rider  took  it  for  granted  he  was  keeping 
the  right  path.  Now  and  then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  water  through 
the  trees — no  doubt  the  river  mentioned  in  the  directions  given  him  by 
the  darkey.  The  crossing  at  length  came  in  sight,  causing  him  to  desist 
from  his  rapid  gallop — in  order  that  he  might  ford  the  stream.  There 
was  no  appearance  of  a  bridge.  The  water,  however  was  only  knea 
deep ;  and,  without  hesitation,  the  pony  plunged  in,  and  waded  over. 
Herbert  halted  on  the  opposite  bank :  for  there  appeared  in  front  of  him 
a  dilemma.  The  road  forked.  The  negro  boy  had  warned  him  of  this — 
telling  him  at  the  same  time  to  take  the  one  that  didn't  lead  to  "  da  leff  ;'* 
but,  instead  of  two  "  tines"  to  the  fork,  there  were  three ! 

Here  was  a  puzzle.  It  was  easy  enough  to  know  which  of  the  three 
**t  to  take — the  one  that  did  lead  to  "  da  leff ;"  but  which  of  the  other 
two  was  to  be  chosen,  was  the  point  that  appeared  to  present  a  difficulty 
in  the  solution.  Both  were  plain,  good  roads  ;  and  each  as  likely  as  the 
other  to  be  the  one  which  would  conduct  him  to  Mount  Welcome. 

Had  hia  rider  left  the  pony  to  its  own  guidance,  perhaps  it  would  havo 
chosen  the  right  road.  In  all  likelihood  he  would  have  done  so  in  the 
end ;  but,  before  determining  on  any  particular  line  of  action,  he  thought 
it  better  to  look  for  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  that  he  knew  must  have 
passed  in  advance  of  him. 

While  thus  cogitating,  the  silence  occasioned  by  his  momentary  halt 
•was  ah*  at  once  interrupted  by  a  voice — that  sounded  at  his  very  side — 
and  the  tones  of  which  he  fancied  were  not  new  to  him. 

On  suddenly  turning  in  the  saddle,  and  looking  in  the  direction  whence 
the  Toice  appeared  to  proceed,  what  was  his  astonishment  on  beholding 
the  negro  boy — the  veritable  Quashie  ! 

"  Da,  sa  1  das  da  crossin'  me  you  tell  T)out ;  you  no  take  by  do  leff — 
dat  lead  to  ole  Jew  penn ;  nor  da  right — he  go  to  Mon'gew  Cassel ;  de 
middle  Massr  Va'n  road — he  go  strait  na  Moun'  Welc'm'." 

The  young  traveler  sat  for  some  moments  without  speaking,  or  making 
reply  in  any  way — surprise  holding  him  as  if  struck  by  paralysis.  He 
had  left  the  boy  on  the  forward  deck  of  the  ship,  to  look  after  his  lug- 
gage ;  and  he  had  seen  him — he  could  almost  swear  to  it — still  on  boardv 
as  he  rode  away  from  the  wharf!  Moreover,  he  had  ridden  a  stretch  of 
many  miles — most  of  the  way  at  full  gallop,  and  all  of  it  at  a  pace  with 
which  no  pedestrian  could  possibly  have  kept  up  1  How,  then,  was  he  to 
account  for  the  presence  of  Quashie  ? 

This  was  tha  first  question  that  occurred  to  him ;  and  which  he  put  to 
the  darkey,  as  soon  as  he  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  surprise  to 
be  able  to  speak. 

",Quashie  foller  young  buckra — at  him  pony  heela." 

The  answer  went  but  a  short  way  towards  enlightening  the  "  young 
lanokra  ;"  since  he  still  believed  it  utterly  impossible  for  any  hiu»an  being 
to  have  travelled  as  fast  as  he  had  ridden. 

"  At  the  pany's  heels  !  What,  my  blackskin !  do  yon  mean  to  say  you 
bftTe  run  all  the  wav  after  me  from  the  landing-place  ?" 


62  ON   TO   MOUNT   WELCOME. 

"  Ya,  sa,  dat  hab  Quashie  do." 

"  But  I  saw  you  011  board  the  ship  as  I  started  off?  How  on  eartfc 
could  you  have  overtaken  me  ?" 

"  Yaw,  massr,  dat  wa'  easy  'nuf.  Young  buckra,  he  start  off;  Quashie, 
he  put  him  porkmantle  in  da  ox-cart  and  foller.  Buckra,  he  go  slow  at 
fuss,  Quashie  soon  cotch  up,  and  den  easy  run  'long  wi1  da  pony — not 
mnch  in  dat,  sa." 

"  Not  much !     Why,  you  imp  of  darkness,  I  have  been  riding  at  the 

,  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour,  and  how  you've  kept  up  with  me  is  beyond  my 

*  comprehension  1    Well,  you're  a  noble  runner,  that  I  must  say  1    I'd  back 

you  at  a  foot-race  against  all  comers,  whether  black  ones  or  white  ones. 

J  he  middle  road,  you  say  ?" 

"  Ya,  sa,  dat  de  way  to  Moun'  Welc'm' ;  you  soon  see  de  big  gate  ob  de 
plantation." 

Herbert  headed  his  roadster  in  the  direction  indicated ;  and  moved  on- 
ward along  the  path — his  thoughts  still  dwelling  on  the  odd  incident 

He  had  proceeded  but  a  few  lengths  of  his  pony,  when  he  was  tempted 
to  look  back — partly  to  ascertain  if  Quashie  was  still  following  him,  and 
partly  with  the  intention  of  putting  a  query  to  this  singular  escort. 

A  fresh  surprise  was  in  store  for  him.  The  darkey  was  nowhere  to  be 
Been !  Neither  to  the  right,  nor  the  left,  nor  yet  in  the  rear,  was  he 
visible ! 

"  Where  the  deuce  can  the  imp  have  gone  ?"  inquired  Herbert,  me- 
chanically, at  the  same  time  scanning  the  underwood  on  both  sides  of  the 
road. 

"  Hya,  sa !"  answered  a  voice  that  appeared  to  come  out  of  the  ground 
close  behind — while  at  the  same  instant  the  brown  mop  of  Quashie,  just 
visible  over  the  croup  of  the  cob,  proclaimed  his  whereabouts. 

How  the  boy  had  been  able  to  keep  up  with  the  pony  was  at  length 
explained  :  he  had  been  holding  on  to  its  tail !  There  was  something  so 
ludicrous  in  the  sight,  that  the  young  Englishman  forgot  for  a  moment  the 
grave  thoughts  that  had  been  harassing  him  ;  and,  once  more  checking 
his  steed  into  a  halt,  gave  utterance  to  roars  of  laughter.  The  darkey 
joined  in  his  mirth  with  a  grin  that  extended  his  mouth  from  ear  to  ear 
— though  he  was  utterly  unconscious  of  what  the  young  buckra  could  be 
laughing  at.  He  could  not  see  anything  comic  in  a  custom  which  he  wag 
almost  daily  in  the  habit  of  practising — for  it  was  not  the  first  time 
Quashie  had  travelled  at  the  tail  of  a  horse. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

OK  TO   MOUNT    WELCOME. 

about  half  a  mile  farther  along  the  main  road,  the  entrance 
of  Mount  Welcome  came  in  sight.  There  was  no  lodge — only  a  pair 
grand  stone  piers,  with  a  wing  of  strong  mason-work  on  each  flank, 
vnd  a  massive  folding  gate  between  them.  From  the  directions  Herbert 
had  already  received,  he  might  have  known  this  to  bo  the  entrance  to  his 
uncle's  ^laii^ation  ;  but  Quashie,  still  clinging  to  the  pony's  tail,  removed 
all  douot  by  or v  ing  out— 


ON    TO   MOUNT   WELCOME.  63 

44  Da's  da  gate,  buckra  gemman — da's  de  way  fo?  Monn'  Welc'm'." 

On  passing  through  the  gateway,  the  mansion  itself  came  in  sight — its 
white  walls  and  green  jalousies  shining  conspicuously  at  the  extreme  end 
of  the  long  avenue  ;  which  last,  with  its  bordering  rows  of  palms  and 
tamarinds,  gave  to  the  approach  an  air  of  aristocratic  grandeur.  Herbert 
had  been  prepared  for  something  of  this  kind.  He  had  heaid  at  home 
thut  his  father's  brother  was  a  man  of  great  wealth ;  and  this  was  nearly 
all  his  father  had  himself  known  respecting  him.  The  equipage  which 
.  md  transported  his  more  favoured  fellow-voyager — and  which  had  pawn 
i  cd  over  the  same  road  about  an  hour  before  him — also  gave  evidence  of 
the  grand  style  in  which  his  uncle  lived.  The  mansion  now  before  hit 
eyes  was  in  correspondence  with  what  he  had  heard  and  seen.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  his  uncle  was  one  of  the  grandees  of  the  island. 
The  reflection  gave  him  less  pleasure  than  pain.  His  pride  had  been  al- 
ready wounded  ;  and,  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  preferred  a  hovel 
and  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  hospitality  of  a  palace  so  churlishly  extend- 
ed to  him.  Even  before  landing — before  embarking,  we  might  say — he 
had  indulged  in  no  very  sanguine  expectations  of  being  well  received. 
He  could  then  reason  only  from  his  own  father's  experience.  Now  he  had 
other  data:  in  the  difference  of  the  reception  already  accorded  to  his  fel- 
low-voyager and  himself ;  and,  as  he  looked  up  the  noble  avenue,  he  was 
oppressed  with  a  presentiment  that  some  even  greater  humiliation  was  in 
store  for  him. 

He  knew  not  what  family  his  uncle  had  :  his  father  had  never  heard — 
not  even  whether  he  had  been  married.  To  the  English  relatives  of 
Loftus  Vanghan,  his '  mesalliance '  with  the  quadroon,  Quasheba,  had  never 
been  reported  ;  nor  much  else  that  related  to  him  since  his  migration  to 
Jamaica. 

Herbert  was  therefore  approaching  the  house  utterly  ignorant  upon 
those  points — not  knowing  whether  his  uncle  was  childless,  or  whether, 
on  his  arrival,  he  might  encounter  a  large  family  circle. 

Naturally  enough,  his  mind  speculated  upon  the  probability  of  his  har 
ing  some  cousins,  and  very  naturally  did  he  feel  a  curiosity  to  be  satisfied 
on  this  head.  Could  Quaehie  give  him  the  desired  information  ?  The 
boy  was  still  clinging  to  the  pony's  tail,  and  Herbert  resolved  to  interro 
gate  him, 

<l  Quashie !  that's  your  name,  is  it  T* 

"  Ya,  sa ;  Quashie  da  pose-boy." 

"  Post-boy  I  you  carry  the  letters,  tb&n?" 

"  Ya,  sa ;  to  pose-office  in  da  Bay,  ac.  icddars  back  fo'  da  great  houa*," 

"  Whose  letters  do  you  carry  ?" 

"  Massr  letter,  be  sure,  sa ;  sometime  be  letter  for  young  miser." 

"  Which  young  missr  V 

"  Lor, sa!  why  you  axe?  Sure,  dar  only  be  one  young  missr — Missr 
Kate,  massr  own  daughter." 

"  One  cousin,  at  least,"  soliloquised  Herbert,  rathev  satisfied  at  th* 
success  of  his  indirect  questioning,  "  and  that  of  the  right  sex,"  h«  cotv 
tinued  ;  "  I  wonder  if  there  be  any  males  in  the  family.  Quashie  ?" 

"  Hyt,  sa." 

v  Do  you  evsr  have  letters  for  Hisrs  Kate's  brother?" 


$4  ON   TO   MOUNT   WELCOME. 

"  Missr  Kate  brodder  ?    She  hab  no  brodder,  sa  ;  I  nebber  seed  urn.* 

"  Oh  1 1  meant  her  father." 

"  Lor,  sa  1  Quashie  jess  say  jess  now  he  bring  letter  for  Massr  Va'n. 
Mose  all  de  letters  fo'  massr." 

"  Only  one  cousin,"  again  soliloquised  Herbert.  "  Under  other  circum- 
stances this  might  have  been  interesting ;  but  now Tell  me,  Quashie 

Was  it  your  master  himself  who  gave  you  directions  about  conducting 
me  to*  Mount  Welcome ;  or  did  you  have  your  orders  from  the  OTer- 
leer  ?" 

**  Massr  no  me  speak  *bout  you,  sa ;  I  no  hear  him  say  nuffin." 

*  Tfee  overseer,  then  ?" 
"  Ya,  sa,  de  obaseeah." 

"  What  did  he  bid  you  do  ?  Tell  me  as  near  as  you  can ;  and  I  may 
make  you  a  present  one  of  these  days." 

"  Gorry,  massr  buckra !  I  you  tell  all  he  say,  'zactly  as  he  say  um. 
'  Quashie,'  say  he, '  Quashie,'  he  say, '  you  go  down  board  de  big  ship  ; 
you  see  dat  ere  young  buckra' — dat  war  yourself,  sa — '  you  fotch  'im  up 
to  de  ox  "wagon,  you  fotch  'im  baggage,  too  ;  you  mount  'im  on  Coco* — da's 
de  pony's  name — '  and  den  you  fotch  him  home  to  my  house.'  Da's  all  he 
say — ebbery  word." 

"  To  hit  house  ?    Mount  Welcome,  you  mean  ?" 

"  No,  young  buckra  gemman — to  da  obaseeah  house.  And  now  we 
jess  got  to  da  road  dat  lead  dar.  Dis  way,  sa !  dis  way  1" 

The  darkey  pointed  to  a  bye-road,  that,  forking  off  from  the  main 
avenue,  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  ridge,  where  it  entered  into  a  tract  of 
thick  woods. 

Herbert  had  checked  the  pony  to  a  halt,  and  sat  gazing  at  his  guide,  in 
mute  surprise. 

"  Dis  way,  sa !"  repeated  the  boy.  "  Yonner's  'im  house.  You  see  wha 
da  smoke  rises,  jess  ober  de  big  tree  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  good  feUow  ?  What  house  are  you  talking 
of?" 

"  Da  obaseeah  house,  sa  1" 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  the  overseer's  house  ?" 

"  Wees  agwine  da,  sa." 

"  Who  ?    You  ?" 

*  Bof,  sa  ;  an'  de  pony  too." 

"  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses,  you  imp  of  darkness  r" 

"No,  sa;  Quashie  only  do  what  him  bid.    Da  obaseeah  Quashie  bid* 
fotch  young  buckra  to  him  house.    Dis  yeer's  da  way." 

"  I  tell  you,  boy,  you  must  be  mistaken.  It  is  to  Mount  Welcome  I  am 
going — my  uncle's  house — up  yonder  1" 

"  No,  buckra  gemman,  me  no  mastake.  Da  obaseeah  berry  partikler 
trout  dat.  He  tell  me  y.ou  no  for  da  great  house — da  Buff.  He  say  ma 
fotch  you  to  'im  own  house." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

Herbert,  as  he  put  this  interrogatory,  leant  forward  in  the  saddle,  and 
listened  attentively  for  the  reply, 

"  Lor,  buckra  gemman !  I's  sure  ob  it  as  de  SUE  in  de  hebbens  dar  I 
iwa'  it,  if  you  like" 


A    SLIPPEBY   FLOOB,  6$ 

Oft  hearing  this  positive  affirmation,  the  young  Englishman  sat  for  » 
moment,  as  if  wrapt  in  a  profound  and  painful  reflection.  His  breast  rose 
and  fell  as  though  some  terrible  truth  was  breaking  upon  him,  which  he 
was  endeavouring  to  disbelieve. 

At  this  moment,  Quashie  caught  the  rein  of  the  bridle,  and  was  about 
to  lead  the  pony  into  the  bye-path. 

"  No  !"  shouted  the  rider,  in  a  voice  loud  as  thunder.  "  Let  go,  boy  1 
let  go !  or  I'll  give  you  the  whip  1  This  is  my  way." 

And,  wrenching  the  rein  from  the  grasp  of  the  guide,  he  headed  the 
pony  back  into  the  avenue. 

Then,  laying  on  the  lash  with  all  his  might,  he  kept  on,  at  full  gallop, 
;n  the  direction  of  the  "  great  house." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A    SLIPPERY    FLOOB. 

THB  carriage  conveying  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  from  Montego  Bay  to 
Mount  Welcome  had  passed  up  the  avenue  and  arrived  at  the  great 
house,  just  one  hour  before  Herbert  Vaughan,  mounted  on  his  rough 
roadster,  and  guided  by  Quashie,  made  his  appearance  at  the  entrance- 
gate  of  the  plantation.  Herbert,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  the  house  as  he 
advanced,  could  see  no  one  neither  in  front  nor  on  the  landing,  nor  in  the 
windows,  though  the  Venetian  shutters  stood  wide  open. 

This  absence  of  every  human  r»eing  from  the  front  part  of  the  dwelling 
very  naturally  suggested  to  the  ;pung  man  a  reflection.  His  uncle,  and 
all  his  domestics  as  well,  were  occupied  inside  with  the  aristocratic  and 
honoured  guest — no  one  was  looirng  out  for  him. 

This  conjecture  was  not  far  from  the  truth.  His  uncle  was  not  even 
thinking  of  him.  Having  taken  tl  e  precautions  already  explained,  the 
planter  was  no  longer  apprehensive  of  a  contretemps.  Mr.  Smythje  had 
arrived  at  half-past  three,  p.  M.  Fi  or  was  the  regular  dining  hour  at 
Mount  Welcome :  so  that  there  T  as  just  neat  time  for  the  valet 
to  unpack  the  ample  valises  and  portr^anteaus,  and  dress  his  exquisite 
master  for  the  table.  All  this  had  beei  done  before  the  young  steerage 
passenger  came  within  view  of  the  hous** — all  this,  and  more.  The  din- 
ner had  been  placed  upon  the  table  ;  the  !>ell  had  summoned  the  guests  ; 
Mr.  Vaughan  had  presented  the  honoured  ctranger  to  his  daughter  Kate  ; 
and  the  three — father,  daughter,  and,  in  Mr.  Vaughan's  view  the  pre- 
sumptive son-in-law — had  seated  themselv<s )  at  the  table. 

As  only  three  covers  had  been  placed,  the  number  of  guests  was  com- 
plete, and  the  dinner  commenced.  No  one  else  appeared  to  be  expected, 
and  no  one  was  mentioned  as  missing.  It  had  been  the  aim  of  Mr 
Vaughan  to  make  the  introduction  of  Mr.  Smythje  to  his  daughter  as  ef- 
fective as  possible.  He  was  sage  enough  to  know  the  power  of  first  ap- 
pearances. For  that  reason,  he  had  managed  to  keep  them  apart  until  the 
moment  of  meeting  at  the  dinner  table,  when  both  should  appear  under 
the  advantage  of  a  full  dress.  So  far  as  the  impression  to  be  made  on 
Mr.  Smythje  was  concerned,  Mr,  Vaughan'i  scheme  was  perfectly  suo- 


65  A  SLIPPEKY  FLOOB. 

cessful.  His  daughter  really  appeared  superb — radiant  as  the  crimson 
quamoclit  that  glistened  in  her  hair ;  graceful  as  nature,  and  elegant  af 
art,  could  mak"  her.  Even  the  heart  of  the  cockney  felt,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  that  true  sentiment  of  admiration  which  beauty,  com' 
bined  with  virgin  modesty,  is  almost  certain  to  inspire. 

For  a  moment,  the  remembrance  of  the  ballet-girl,  and  the  lewd  recol 
lections  of  the  bagnio,  were  obliterated  ;  arid  a  graver  and  nobler  inspira- 
tion took  their  place.  Even  vulgar  Loftus  Vaughan  had  skill  enough  to 

•  note  this  effect;  but  how  long  it  would  last — how  long  the  plant  oft 
pure  passion  would  flourish  in  that  uncongenial  soil,  was  a  question 
which  it  required  an  abler  physiologist  than  Loftus  Vaughan  to  deter 
mine.     The  sugar-planter  chuckled  as  he  noted  his  success.     Srnythje 
was  smitten,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

Had  the  calculating  father  been  equally  anxious  to  perceive  a  recipro- 
city of  this  fine  first  impression,  he  would  have  been  doomed  to  a  disap« 
pointment.  As  certainly  as  that  of  Mr.  Smythje  was  a  sentiment  of  ad- 
miration, so  certainly  was  that  of  Kate  Vaughan  a  feeling  of  '  degout ;' 
or,  to  speak  in  more  moderate  terms,  one  of  indifference. 

Worst  sign  of  all — worst  for  the  hopes  of  Montagu's  lord — from  the 
moment  she  became  seated  at  the  table,  Miss  Vaughan  was  all  mirth  and 
smiles.  The  guest  appeared  gratified  by  this  genial  amiability.  Ah, 
Smythje  1  you  were  not  then  in  the  coulisse  or  the  green-room.  Your 
deductions  were  deceitful.  Had  you  known  as  much  as  I,  you  would 
have  preferred  a  frown.  In  truth,  the  Londoner  had  made  a  most  un- 
fortunate '  debut,'  A  gaucheric  had  happened  in  the  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction— just  at  that  crisis  moment  when  all  eyes  are  sharply  set,  and  all 
ears  acutely  bent  in  mutual  reconnoisance.  Mr.  Vaughan  had  committed 
a  grand  error  in  causing  the  presentation  to  take  place  in  the  grand  hall. 
Ice  itself  was  not  more  slippery  than  its  floor  ;  and  the  consequence  was 
unavoidable.  Had  the  cockney  been  upon  skates,  he  might  have  per- 
formed to  satisfaction  :  for  many  "winters  had  seen  him  upon  the  Serpen- 
tine, running  figures  of  8. 

As  it  was,  however,  his  patent  pumps  were   frictionless   upon   the 

polished  floor  of  a  Jamaica  dining-hall ;  and,  essaying  one  of  his  most 

graceful  attitudes,  he  came  down  like  a  "  thousand  of  bricks  "  at  the  feet 

?f  her  he  simply  intended  to  have  saluted.     In  that  fall  he  had  lost  every- 

hing — every  chance  of  winning  Kate  Vaughan's  heart.    A  thousand  acts 

gracefulness,  a  thousand  deeds  of  heroism,  would  not  have  set  him  up 
.  tin  after  that  fall.  It  was  a  clear  paraphrase  of  the  downfall  of  Humpty 
.Mirapty — the  restoration  alike  hopeless,  alike  impossible. 

Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  was  too  well  stocked  with  self-complacency  to 

suffer  much  embarrassment  from  a  lapsus  of  so  trifling  a  character.     His 

valet  had  him  upon  his  feet  in  a  trice  ;  and  with  a  "  Haw-haw  1"  and  the 

'  remark  that  the  floor  was  "  demned  swippawy,"  he  crept  cautiously  to 

his  chair,  and  seated  himself.    The  dinner  proceeded.     Though  the  Lon- 

•  doner  had  been  all  his  life  accustomed  to  dining  well,  he  could  not  help 
a  feeling  of  surprise  at  the  plentiful  and  luxurious  repas*  that  was  placed 
before  him. 

Perhaps  in  no  part  of  the  world  do'.-s  the  table  groat,  under  a  greatei 
load  of  rich  vjanas  than  in  the  Wo§t  Indian  islands,  In  the  prosperotw 


THE   COMING  CLOUD.  67 

tiffins  of  sugar  planting,  a  Jamaican  dinner  was  deserving  of  the  name  of 
feast.  Turtle  was  the  common  soup,  and  the  most  sumptuous  dishea 
stood  'hickly  over  the  board.  Even  the  ordinary  every-day  desert  waa 
a  Hpr.-.id  worthy  of  Apicius  ;  and  the  wines — instead  of  those  dull  twin 
poisi,us,  port  and  sherry — were  south-side  madeira,  champagne,  claret, 
and  sparkling  hock — all  quaffed  in  copious  flagons,  plenteous  aa  small 
beer 

These  were  glorious  times  for  the  white-skinned  oligarchy  of  the  sugar 
1  Inlands— the  days  of  revel  and  rollicky  living-,  before  the  wedge  of  Wil- 
berforce  split  the  dark  pedestal  which  propped  up  their  pomp  and  pros- 
/  parity. 

A  dinner  of  this  good  old-fashioned  style  had  Loftus  Vaughan  prepar- 
ed for  his  English  guest.  Behind  the  chairs  appeared  troops  of  coloured 
attendants,  gliding  silently  over  the  smooth  floor.  A  constant  stream  of 
domestics  poured  in  and  out  of  the  hall,  fetching  and  removing  the  dishea 
and  plates,  or  carrying  the  wine  decanters  in  their  silver  coolers.  Young 
girls,  of  various  shades  of  complexion — some  nearly  white — stood  at  in- 
tervals around  the  table,  fanning  the  guests  with  long  peacock  plumes, 
and  filling  the  great  hall  with  an  artificial  current  of  delicious  coolness. 

Montagu  Smythje  was  delighted.  Even  in  his  "  deaw  metwopolis  "  he 
had  never  dined  so  luxuriously. 

"  Spwendid,  spwendid — 'pon  honaw  I    A  dinaw  fit  fwo  a  pwince." 

So  complimented  he  his  West  Indian  entertainer. 

Mr.  Vaughan,  on  his  part,  was  gratified  by  the  progress  of  events.  He 
saw  that  his  preparations  had  not  been  thrown  away.  He  had  succeeded 
in  his  purpose — to  make  a  good  first  impression  upon  his  visitor  ;  and,  aa 
far  as  human  foresight  could  penetrate  into  the  future,  all  would  go  well. 
He  no  longer  doubted — how  could  he  ? — that  the  estates  of  Montagu 
Castle  and  Mount  Welcome  would  at  some,  and  no  very  distant,  day  be 
united  in  one  magnificent  domain. 

Kate  was  behaving  admirably ;  though  about  her  behaviour  he  had 
less  solicitude.  It  had  never  entered  into  his  calculations  to  consult  her 
will  in  his  match-making  designs.  As  his  daughter  she  owed  him  obedi- 
ence. Perhaps  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  she  owed  it  in  a  double 
sense  ;  since  lie  was  both  her  father  and  her  master. 

Kate,  however,  was  giving  him  no  reason  to  complain  of  her  conduct. 
f  he  was  acting  just  as  he  desired  ;  and  the  same  smiling  affability  that 
k^d  made  such  favourable  impression  on  the  newly  arrived  guest,  equally 
Collided  the  belief  of  the  fond  parent. 

Ah,  Loftus  Vaughan?  You  may  have  known  how  to  ratoon  your 
golden  canes — you  may  have  been  deeply  skilled  in  the  crystallisation  of 
sugars — but  those  signs  that  indicate  the  instinctive  inclinings  of  « 
maiden's  heart  were  things  too  subtle  for  your  comphchension ! 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    COMING   CLOUD. 

THB  dinner  passed  smoothly.    The  savoury  dishes  had  been  tasted,  and 


68  THE  COMING  CLOUD. 

carried  off ;  and  the  table,  now  arranged  for  dessert,  exhibited  that  gorg* 
ous  profusion  such  as  a  tropic  chine  can  alone  produce — where  almost 
every  order  of  the  botanical  woi-ld  supplies  some  fruit  or  berry  of  rarest 
excellence.  Alone  in  the  tropic  regions  of  the  New  World  may  such 
variety  be  seen — a  dessert  table,  upon  which  Pomona  appears  to  Lave 
poured  forth  her  golden  cornucopia. 

The  cloth  had  been  removed  from  the  highly  polished  table,  and  the 
sparkling  decanters  were  once  more  passed  around.    In  honour  of  hii 
guest,  the  planter  had  already  played  free  with  his  own  wines,  ^  hi cfc 
teere  all  of  most  excellent  quality.    Loftus  Vaughan  was  at  that  momsn1  i. 
at  a  maximum  of  enjoyment.  *• 

Just  at  that  very  moment,  however,  a  cloud  made  its  appearance  on  the 
edge  of  the  sky.  It  was  a  very  little  cloud,  and  still  very  far  off ;  but, 
for  all  that,  a  careful  observer  could  have  seen  that  its  shadow  was  re- 
flected on  the  brow  of  Loftus  Vaughan. 

We  have  spoken  figuratively  in  calling  the  object  that  caused  thii 
shadow  a  cloud,  and  placing  it  in  the  sky.  Literally  speaking,  it  was  an 
object  on  the  earth,  of  shape  half  human,  half  equine,  that  appeared  near 
the  extreme  end  of  the  long  avenue,  moving  towards  the  house. 

When  first  seen  by  Loftus  Vaughan  it  was  still  distant,  though  not  so 
far  off  but  that,  with  the  naked  eye,  he  could  distinguish  a  man  on  horse- 
back. 

This  apparition  appeared  to  produce  an  instantaneous  effect  upon  him. 
A  shadow  settled  upon  his  forehead  ;  and  from  that  moment  he  might 
have  been  observed  to  turn  about  in  his  chair,  at  short  intervals  casting 
uneasy  glances  upon  the  centaurean  form  that  was  gradually  growing 
bigger  as  it  advanced. 

This  apparently  mysterious  change  in  the  behaviour  of  Mr.  Vaughan 
was  easily  accounted  for.  He  had  recognised  the  approaching  horseman, 
or  rather  the  pony  on  which  he  was  mounted.  He  knew  the  rider  to  be 
his  nephew  :  for  the  overseer  had  already  reported  the  arrival  of  Her- 
bert Vaughan  by  the  Sea  Nymph. 

For  a  time  the  expression  was  far  from  being  a  marked  one.  The  looks 
that  conveyed  it  were  furtive,  and  might  have  passed  unnoticed  by  the 
superficial  observer.  They  had,  in  fact,  escaped  the  notice  both  of 'his 
daughter  and  his  guest ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  the  halt  at  entrance  of. 
the  by-path,  and  the  horseman  was  seen  coming  on  directly  for  the  house, 
that  the  attention  of  either  was  drawn  to  the  singular  behaviour  of  Mr. 
Vaughan.  Then,  however,  his  nervous  anxiety  had  become  so  iindiu 
guisedly  patent,  as  to  elicit  from  Miss  Vaughan  an  ejaculation  of  surprise,  : 
while  the  cockney  involuntarily  exclaimed,  '"Bless  ma  soul  1"  adding  the 
interrogatory — 

"  Anything  wrong,  sir  ?" 

"  Oh  1  nothing  1"  stammered  the  planter ;  "  only — only — a  little  surpris* 
—that's  all." 

"  Surprise,  papa !  what  has  caused  it  ?  Oh,  see  ;  yonder  is  some  one  on 
horseback — a  man — a  young  man.  I  declare  it  is  our  own  pony  he  is 
riding  ;  and  that  is  our  Quashie  running  behind  him  I  Hew  very  amua- 
ing  1  Papa,  what  is  it  all  about  ?" 

<;  Tu:t  1  sit  down,  child  I"  commanded  the  father,  in  a  tone  of  nervous 


THE    50MING   CLOUD.  69 

perplexity.  "  Sit  down,  I  say !  Whoever  it  be,  it  will  be  time  econgh 
to  know  when  he  arrives.  Kate!  Kate  !  'tis  not  well  bred  of  you  to  in 
terrupt  our  dessert.  Mr.  Smythje,  glass  of  madeira  with  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Plesyaw  1"  answered  the  exquisite,  turning  once  more  to  the  table, 
and  occupying  himself  with  his  glass. 

Kate  obeyed  the  command  with  a  look  of  reluctance  and  surprise.   She 

was  slightly  awed,  too  ;  not  so  much  by  the  words,  as  the  severe  glance 

that  accompanied  them.    She  made  no  reply,  but  sat  gazing  with  a  myeti 

;  fied  air  in  the  face  of  her  father,  who,  hob-nobbing  with  his  guest,  affected 

not  to  notice  her. 

The  pony  an^his  rider  were  no  longer  visible,  as  they  were  now  too 
c&ose  to  the  house  to  be  seen  over  the  sill  of  the  window,  but  the  clatter- 
ing hoofs  could  be  heard,  the  sounds  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 

Mr.  Vaughan  was  endeavouring  to  appear  collected,  and  to  say  some- 
thing ;  but  his  sangfroid  was  evidently  assumed  and  unnatural ;  and,  be- 
ing unable  to  keep  up  the  conversation,  an  ominous  silence  succeeded. 
The  sound  of  the  hoofs  ceased  to  be  heard.  The  pony  had  arrived  under 
*>*e  windows,  and  come  to  a  halt.  Then  there  were  voices — earnest  and 
*«4iii«r  lo'*..  These  were  succeeded  by  the  noise  of  footsteps  on  the  stone 
scan  wtkj/',  fj'«*ke  one  was  coming  up  the  steps.  Mr.  Vaughan  looked  aghast. 
All  his  fine  plans  were  about  to  be  frustrated.  There  was  a  hitch  in  tiue* 
programme — Quashie  had  failed  in  the  performance  of  his  part. 
•"  Aha  1"  ejaculated  the  planter,  with  delight,  as  the  smooth,  trim  coun- 
tenance of  his  overseer  made  its  appearance  above  the  landing.  '  *  Mr. 
Trusty  wishes  to  speak  with'  me.  Your  pardon,  Mr.  Smythje — ociy  for 
one  moment." 

As  he  said  this,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  hastened  to  meet  the  over- 
seer before  he  could  enter  the  room.  The  latter,  however,  had  already 
stepped  inside  the  doorway  ;  and,  not  being  much  of  a  diplomatist,  ha^ 
bluntly  declared  his  errand — in  sotto  voce,  it  it  tru^,  but  still  not  1<» 
enough  to  hinder  a  part  of  his  communication  from  being  heard.  Amor^ 
other  words,  the  phrase,  "  your  nephew,"  reached  the  ears  of  Kate — at 
that  moment  keenly  bent  to  catch  every  sound. 

The  reply  was  also  partially  heard,  though  delivered  in  a  low,  and  ap- 
parently tremulous  voice — "  Show  him — kiosk — garden — tell  him — there 
presently." 

Mr.  Vaughan  turned  back  to  the  table  with  a  half-satisfied  look.  He 
was  fancying  that  he  had  escaped  from  his  dilemma,  at  least,  for  the 
time  ;  but  the  expression  he  perceived  on  the  countenance  of  his  daugh- 
ter restored  the  suspicion  that  all  was  not  right. 

Scarce  a  second  was  he  left  in  doubt,  for  almost  on  the  instant  that  the 
words  were  uttered,  Kate  cried  out,  in  a  tone  of  pleased  surprise — 

•'  Oh !  papa,  what  do  I  hear  ?  Did  not  Mr.  Trusty  say  something  about 
1  yaur  nephew  ?'  After  all,  has  cousin  come  ?  Is  ft  he  who " 

"  Kate,,  my  child,"  quickly  interruptei  her  father,  and  appearing  not  to 
have  heard  her  interrogatory,  "you  may  retire  to  your  room.  Mr. 
Bmythje  and  I  would  like  to  have  a  cigar  ;  and  the  smoke  don't  agree 
with  you.  Go,  child — go  1" 

The  young  girl  instantly  rose  from  her  chair,  and  hastened  to  obey  the 
command — notwithstanding  the  protestations  of  Mr.  Smythje,  who  looked 


70  THE  KIOSK. 

as  if  he  would  have  preferred  her  company  to  the  cigar.  Bait  her 
hurriedly  repeated  the  "  Go,  child,  go  1"  accompanying  the  words  with 
another  of  those  severe  glances,  which  had  already  awed  and  mystified 
her. 

Before  she  had  passed  fairly  out  of  the  great  hall,  however,  her 
thoughta  reverted  to  the  unanswered  interrogatory ;  and  as  she  crossed 
the  threshold  of  her  chamber,  she  was  heard  muttering  to  herself,  "  I 
monder  if  cousin  be  come  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   KIOSK. 

A  PORTION  of  the  level  platform  on  which  Mount  Welcome  was  built  ex- 
tended to  the  rear  of  the  dwelling ;  and  was  occupied,  as  already  des- 
cribed, by  a  garden  filled  with  rare  and  beautiful  plants.  Near  the  midst 
of  this  garden,  and  about  a  dozen  paces  from  the  house,  stood  a  small 
detatched  building,  the  materials  of  which  were  ornamental  woods  of 
various  kinds,  all  natives  of  the  island,  famed  for  such  products.  The 
pieces  composing  this  cottage,  or  "  kiosk,"  as  it  was  habitually  called,  had 
all  been  cut  and  carved  with  skillful  care  ;  and  the  whole  structure  had 
been  designed  as  a  representation  of  a  miniature  temple,  with  a  cupola 
upon  its  top,  surmounted  by  a  gilded  and  glittering  vane. 

Inside  there  were  neither  stairs  nor  partitions — the  whole  space  being 
occupied  by  a  single  apartment.  There  were  no  glass  windows,  either ; 
but  all  round  the  walls  were  open,  or  closed  with  Venetian  blinds,  the 
laths  of  which  were  of  the  finest  mahogany.  A  Chinese  mat  covered  the 
floor,  and  a  rustic  table  of  bamboo  cane  pieces,  with  some  half  dozen 
chairs  of  like  manufacture,  constituted  the  principal  part  of  the  furniture. 
On  the  aforesaid  table  stood  an  inkstand  of  silver,  elaborately  chased, 
with  plume  pens  pertaining  to  it.  Some  writing  paper  lay  beside,  and  on 
a  silver  tray  there  were  wafers,  red  sealing-wax,  and  a  signet  seal.  An 
escritoire  stood  on  one  side  ;  and  .two  or  three  dozen  volumes  placed 
upon  the  top  of  this,  with  a  like  number  thrown  carelessly  on  chairs, 
formed  tho  litrary  of  Mount  Welcome. 

Some  magazines  and  journals  lay  upon  the  centre  table,  and  a  box  of 
best  Havannahs — open  and  half  used — showed  that  the  kiosk  served  o»  - 
casionally  for  a  smoking-room.  It  was  sometimes  styled  the  "  library,^ 
though  its  purposes  were  many.  Mr.  Vaughan,  at  times,  used  it  for  the 
reception  of  visitors — such  as  might  have  come  upon  an  errand  of  busi- 
ness— such,  in  short,  as  were  not  deemed  worthy  of  being  introduced  to 
the  company  of  the  grand  hall.  Just  at  the  moment  when  Kate  VaughaD 
quitted  the  dinner-table,  a  young  man  was  shown  into  this  detached 
apartment,  Mr.  Trusty,  the  overseer,  acting  as  his  chaperone. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  this  young  man  was  Herbert  Vaughan. 

How  Herbert  came  to  be  conducted  thither  is  easily  explained.     On 

learning  from  Quashie  the  destination  designed  for  him — aggrieved  and 

;>gry  at  the  revelation — he  had  hurried  in  hot  haste  up  to  the  house.    To 


THE   KlusK.  71 


Mr.  Trusty,  who  was  keeping  guard  at  the  botton.  of  the  stairway,  ho^an- 
nounced  hia  relationship  with  Mr.  Vaughan,  and  demanded  an  interview 
—  making  his  requisition  in  such  energetic  terms,  as  to  disturb  the  habit- 
nal  sang-froid  of  the  overseer,  and  compel  him  to  the  instantaneous  de- 
livery of  his  message. 

Indeed,  so  indignant  did  Herbert  feel,  that  he  would  have  mounted  tL« 
fteps  and  entered  the  house  without  further  parley,  had  not  Mr.  Trustr 
>ut  forth  his  blandest  entreaties  to  prevent  such  a  terrible  catastrophe. 

"  Patience,  my  good  sir!"  urged  the  overseer,  interposing  himself  be 
tween  the  new  comer  and  the  stairway  ;  "  Mr.  Vaughan  will  see  you,  pre 
sently  —  not  just  this  moment;  he  is  engaged  —  company  with  him.  Tin 
family's  at  dinner." 

So  far  from  soothing  the  chafed  spirit  of  the  young  man,  the  announce 
ment  was  only  a  new  mortification.  At  dinner,  and  with  company  —  the 
cabin  passenger,  of  course  —  the  ward  —  not  even  a  relative  —  while  he,  the 
nephew  —  no  dinner  for  him  I  In  truth,  Herbert  recognised  in  this  inci- 
dent a  fresh  outrage  I 

With  an  effort,  he  surrendered  the  idea  of  ascending  the  stairs.  Poor 
though  he  was,  he  was  nevertheless  a  gentleman  ;  and  good  breeding 
stepped  in  to  restrain  him  from  this  unbidden  intrusion,  though  more 
than  ever  «lid  he  feel  convinced  that  an  insult  was  put  upon  him,  and  one 
that  almost  appeared  premeditated. 

He  stood  balancing  in  his  mind  whether  he  should  not  turn  upon  his 
heel,  and  leave  his  uncle's  house  without  entering  it.  A  straw  would 
have  brought  down  the  scale.  The  straw  fell  on  the  negative  side,  and 
decided  him  tc  remain.  On  being  conducted  to  the  kiosk,  and  left  to 
himself,  he  showed  no  wish  to  be  seated  ;  but  paced  the  little  apartment 
backward  and  forward,  in  a  state  of  nervous  agitation. 

He  took  but  slight  heed  of  aught  that  was  there.  He  was  in  no  mood 
for  minutely  observing  —  though  he  could  not  help  noticing  the  luxurious 
elegance  that  surrounded  him  ;  the  grandeur  of  the  great  house  itself; 
the  splendid  parterres  and  gardens  filled  with  plants  and  flowers  of  ex- 
quisite beauty  and  fragrant  perfume.  These  fine  sights,  however,  instead 
of  soothing  his  chafed  .spirit,  only  made  him  more  bitterly  sensible  of  his 
own  poor  fortunes,  and  the  immeasurable  distance  that  separated  him 
from  his  proud,  rich  uncle. 

Through  the  open  sides  of  the  kiosk  he  merely  glanced  hastily  at  the 
grounds  ;  and  then  his  eyes  became  bent  upon  the  great  house,  directed 
habitually  towards  an  entrance  at  the  back,  that  by  a  flight  of  steps  con- 
ducted into  the  garden.  By  this  entrance  he  expected  his  uncle  would 
come  out,  and  in  angry  impatience  did  he  wait  his  coming. 

Had  he  seen  the  soft  eyes  that  were,  at  that  moment,  tenderly  gazing 
upon  him  from  behind  the  lattice-work  of  the  opposite  window,  perhaps 
the  sight  would  have  gone  far  towards  soothing  his  irate  soul.  But  he 
•aw  them  not.  The  jalousies  were  closed  ;  and  though,  from  the  shadowy 
interior  of  the  chamber,  the  kiosk  and  its  occupant  were  in  full  view,  the 
young  Englishman  had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  at  that  moment  the  ob- 
ject of  observation  —  perhaps  of  admiration  —  by  a  pair  of  the  loveliesi 
eyes  in  the  island  of  Jamaica. 

After  turning  for  the  twentieth  time  across  the  door  —  at  each  time 


72  A   BOLD   BESOLVS. 

scanning  the  stairs  with  fresh  impatience — he  somewhat  spitefully  laid 
hold  of  a  book,  and  opened  it,  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  kill  time  over 
it*  pages.  The  volume  which  came  into  his  hands — by  chance,  for  ne 
had  not  chosen  it — was  but  little  calculated  to  tranquillise  his  troubled 
spirits.  It  was  a  digest  of  the  statutes  of  Jamaica  relating  to  slavery — 
the  famous,  or  rather  infamous,  black  code  of  the  island. 

There  he  read,  that  a  man  might  mutilate  his  own  image  in  the  person 
of  a  fellow-man — torture  him,  even  to  death, — and  escape  with  the  pun« 
ishment  of  a  paltry  fine  I  That  a  man  with  a  black  skin,  or  even  white 
if  at  all  tainted  with  African  blood,  could  hold  no  real  estate — no  office 
of  trust !  could  give  no  evidence  in  a  court  of  law — not  even  had  he  been 
witness  of  the  crime  of  murder  I  That  such  a  man  must  not  keep  or  ride 
a  horse  ;  must  not  carry  a  gun,  or  other  weapon  of  defence  ;  must  not  de- 
fend himself  when  assaulted  ;  must  not  defend  wife,  sister,  or  daughter 
— even  when  ruffian  hands  were  tearing  them  from  him  for  the  most  un- 
holy of  purposes  1  In  short,  that  a  man  of  colour  must  do  nothing  to 
make  himself  different  from  a  docile  and  submissive  brute  1 

To  the  young  Englishman,  fresh  from  a  Christian  land—at  that  period 
ringing  with  the  eloquent  denunciations  of  a  Wilberforce,  and  the  phi- 
lanthropic appeals  of  a  Clarkson — the  perusal  of  this  execrable  statute- 
book,  instead  of  producing  tranquillity,  only  infused  fresh  bitterness  into 
his  soul ;  and  stamping  his  foot  fiercely  upon  the  floor,  he  flung  the  de- 
tested volume  back  to  its  place. 

At  this  moment — just  as  he  had  reached  the  maximum  of  reckless  de* 
fiance — a  noise  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  great  house  ;  and  the 
door  of  the  stair  landing  was  seen  to  turn  on  its  himges. 

Of  course,  he  expected  to  see  a  surly  old  uncle,  and  was  resolved  to 
be  as  surly  as  he. 

On  the  contrary,  and  to  his  pleased  surprise,  he  beheld  in  the  doorwaj 
a  beautiful  young  girl  bending  her  eyes  upon  him  with  an  affectionate 
look,  and  as  if  courting  recognition  ! 

A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  passed  through  his  whole  frame ;  hig 
countenance  changed  its  angry  expression  to  one  of  admiration ;  and 
unahla  to  utter  a  word,  he  remained  silently  gazing  on  this  lovely  appari- 
tion 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

A     BO  LS     RES  3LV  B. 

FAB  bet» •**  would  it  hare  been  for  Mr.  Vaughan — at  least,  for  tho  sue" 
oe«8  cf  hii  schemes  of  a  matrimonial  alliance — had  he  adopted  an  honour" 
able  course  vith  hie  nephew  ;  and  at  once  introduced  him,  openly  and 
above  board  to  his  table,  his  daughter,  and  his  aristocratic  guest.  Had 
he  known  r-tfore  dinner,  what  he  was  made  aware  of  in  less  than  five 
minutes  after  it,  he  would,  in  all  likelihood,  have  adopted  this  course.  It 
would  have  spared  him  the  chagrin  he  was  made  to  feel,  on  Mr.  Smythje 
reporting  1r  \iirn  the  encounter  he  had  had  on  board  ship  ;  which  he  pro- 


A    BOLD    BESOLVfi.  73 

ceedod  to  do,  the  moment  after  Kate  had  boon  BO  unceremoniously  dis- 
missed from  the  hall. 

Smythje  had  also  overheard  the  communication  of  the  overseer — the 
word  "  nephew,"  at  least — and  this  recalled  to  his  mind — not  without 
gome  unpleasant  remembrance  of  the  satire  from  which  he  had  suffered 
— the  steerage  passenger  who  had  treated  him  so  brusquely  on  board  the 
3ea  Nymph. 

I  The  miserable  bubble  was  burst  ;  and  the  onus  of  a  somewhat  bung 
ftig  explanation  was  put  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  pompous  planter — 
into  whose  heart  a  bitter  drop  of  gall  was  infused  by  the  disclosure.  Ai 
the  deception  could  be  sustained  no  longer,  the  relationship  was  neces- 
sarily acknowledged  ;  but  the  spark  of  ire  thus  introduced  boded  a  still 
more  unwelcome  reception  to  the  unlucky  nephew.  The  planter  partially 
cleared  himself  of  the  scrape  by  a  false  representation.  In  other  worda, 
he  told  a  lie,  in  saying  that  his  nephew  had  not  beeen  expected.  Smythja 
knew  it  was  a  lie,  but  said  nothing ;  and  the  subject  was  allowed  to  drop, 
Loftus  Vaughan  was  a  common  man  ;  and  the  course  he  had  followed — 
shallow  and  self-defeating — was  proof  of  an  intellect  as  low  as  its 
morality. 

By  his  shabby  treatment  of  his  nephew,  he  was  investing  that  young 
man  with  a  romantic  interest  in  the  eyes  of  Kate,  that,  perhaps,  might 
never  have  been  felt,  or,  at  all  events  not  so  rapidly.  Misfortune — espe- 
cially that  which  springs  from  persecution — is  a  grand  suggestor  of  sym- 
pathy ;  that  is,  when  the  appeal  is  made  to  noble  hearts  ;  and  the  heart  of 
Kate  Vaughan  was  of  this  quality. 

Moreover,  this  surreptitious  dealing  with  the  poor  relative — smuggling 
him  into  the  house  like  a  bale  of  contraband  goods — was  sufficient  of 
itself  to  pique  the  curiosity  of  those  whom  it  was  meant  to  mystify.  So 
far  as  Kate  Vaughan  was  concerned,  that  very  effect  it  produced  ;  for,  on 
leaving  the  dining-room — from  which,  to  say  the  truth,  she  was  only  too 
happy  to  escape — the  young  girl  glided  at  once  to  that  window  that 
opened  out  upon  the  garden ;  and,  parting  the  lattice  with  her  fingers, 
looked  eagerly  through. 

In  the  brief  undertone  that  had  passed  between  her  father  and  the 
overseer,  she  had  heard  the  command,  "  Show  him  to  the  kiosk  ;"  and  she 
knew  that  the  kiosk  was  within  view  of  her  chamber  window.  She  was 
curious  to  see  what  in  all  her  life  she  had  never  beheld — a  cousin  ;  and 
cer  curiosity  was  not  baulked.  Her  cousin  was  before  her  eyes,  pacing 
ihe  little  apartment  to  and  fro,  as  described. 

With  his  blue  braided  frock,  buttoned  tightly  over  his  breast ;  glitter- 
ing Hessian  boots  on  his  well-turned  limbs  ;  his  neat  three-cornered  hat 
set  lightly  over  his  brown  curls  ;  he  was  not  a  sight  likely  to  terrify  a 
young  girl — least  of  all  a  cousin.  Even  the  bold,  somewhat  fierce,  ex- 
pression upon  his  countenance,  at  that  moment  reflecting  the  angry  emo- 
tions that  were  stirring  within  him,  did  not  in  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Creole,  detract  from  the  gracefulness  of  the  noble  face  before  her.  What 
impression  did  the  sight  produce  ?  Certainly  not  terror — certainly  not 
disgust.  On  the  contrary,  she  appeared  gratified  by  it :  else,  why  did  she 
continue  her  gaze,  and  gaze  so  earnestly  ?  Why  became  her  eyes  filled 
with  fire,  and  fixed,  as  by  some  fascination  ?  Why  did  her  yaung 


74  ^  BOLD 

heave  and  fall,  as  if  sonic  now,  wulefiiiable  emotion  was  for  the  first  timo 
germinating  within  it  ?  For  some  moments  she  remained  in  the  same  at- 
titude, gazing  steadfastly  and  silent.  Then,  without  turning,  there  es- 
caped from  her  lips,  low  murmured,  and  as  if  by  an  involuntary  effort,  the 
interrogatory : — 

"  Tola !  is  he  not  beautiful  ?" 

"Beautiful,  missa,"  repeated  the  maid,  who  had  not  yet  beheld  th« 
'bject  for  whom  this  admiration  was  meant ;  "  who  beautiful  ?" 

«  Who  ?     My  cousin,  Tola." 

"  You  cousin — what  is  cousin,  young  missa?"  , 

"  Look  yonder,  and  see !    That's  a  cousin."  * 

"  I  see  a  man." 

"  Ah !  and  saw  you  ever  such  a  man  ?" 

"  True,  missa  ;  never  see  man  look  so — he  surely  angry,  missa  ?" 

"  Angry  ?" 

"  Berry  angry.    He  go  back,  he  go  forward,  like  hyena  in  'im  cage.** 

"  He  is  only  impatient  at  being  kept  waiting.  My  word !  I  think  ii« 
looks  all  the  better  for  it.  Ah  1  see  how  his  eye  flashes.  Oh  !  Tola,  how 
handsome  he  is — how  different  from  the  young  men  of  this  island.  Is  he 
not  a  beautiful  fellow  ?" 

"  He  curled  hair,  like  Cubina  ?" 

"Cubina!  ha  I  ha  !  ha!  This  Cubina  r^ust  be  a  very  Proteus,  as  well 
as  an  Adonis.  Do  you  see  any  other  resemblance,  except  in  the  hair?  If 
BO,  my  cousin  may,  perhaps  resemble  me." 

"  Cubina  much  darker  in  de  colour  ob  de  skin,  missa." 

"  Ha !  ha!  ha !  that  is  not  unlikely." 

"  Cubina  same  size — same  shape — 'zactly  same  shape." 

"  Then,  I  should  say  that  Cubina  is  a  good  shape  j  for,  if  I  know  any- 
thing of  what  a  man  ought  to  be,  that  cousin  of  mine  is  the  correct  thing. 
See  those  arms  !  they  look  as  if  he  could  drag  down  that  great  tamarind 
•with  them  !  Gracious  me !  he  appears  as  if  he  intended  doing  it  1  Surely 
he  must  be  very  impatient !  And,  after  his  coming  so  far,  for  papa  to 
keep  him  waiting  in  this  fashion !  I  really  think  I  should  go  down  to 
him  myself.  What  is  your  opinion,  Yola  ?  Would  it  be  wrong  for  me  to 
gt>  and  speak  with  him  ?  He  is  my  cousin." 

"  What  am  cousin,  missa  ?" 

"  Why  cousin  is — is — something  like  a  brother — only  not  exactly — that 
if  —it's  not  quite  the  same  thing." 

"  Brudder  1  Oh,  missa  I  if  he  Yola  brudder,  she  him  speak ;  she  care 
for  no  one  be  angry." 

•'  True,  Yola  ;  and  if  he  were  ray  brother — alas  !  I  have  none — I  should 
do  the  same  without  hesitation.  But  with  a  cousin,  that's  different.  Bo- 
lides, papa  don't  like  this  cousin  of  mine — for  some  reason  or  another.  I 
wonder  what  can  he  have  against  him.  I  can't  see  ;  and  surely  it  can  be 
no  reason  for  my  liking  him.  And,  surely,  his  being  my  cousin  is  just 
why  I  should  go  down  and  talk  to  him. 

"  Besides,"  continued  the  young  girl,  speaking  to  herself  rather  than  to 
the  maid,  "  he  appears  very,  very  impatient.  Papa  may  keep  him  waiting 
— who  knows  how  long,  since  he  is  so  taken  up  with  this  Mr.  Montagu 
what  s  his  narno  ?  Well,  I  may  be  doing  wrong — perhaps  papa  will  bt 


tHE  ENCOUNTER   OF   THE   COtJStN&.  ?5 

Angry — perhaps  he  won't  know  anything  about  it  1    Right  or  wrong,  I'll 
go !     I  shall  go  1" 

So  saying,  the  young  Creole  snatched  a  scarf  from  the  fauteuil ;  flung  it 
over  her  shoulders  ;  and,  gliding  from  the  chamber,  tripped  silently  aloi.g 
the  passage  that  conducted  towards  the  rear  of  the  dwelling. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   ENCOUNTER   OP   THE   COUSINS. 

th«  door,  and  passing  out,  Kate  Vaughan  paused  timidly  upon 
the  top  of  the  stairway  that  led  down  into  the  garden.  Her  steps  were 
stayed  by  a  feeling  of  bashful  reserve,  that  was  struggling  to  restrain 
her  from  carrying  out  a  resolve,  somewhat  hastily  formed.  Her  hesi- 
^ancy  was  but  the  matter  of  a  moment ;  for  on  the  next — her  resolution 
having  become  fixed — she  descended  the  stairs,  and  advanced  blushing- 
ly  towards  the  kiosk. 

Herbert  had  not  quite  recovered  from  surprise  at  the  unexpected 
apparition,  when  he  was  saluted  by  the  endearing  interrogatory — 

"  Are  you  my  cousin  ?" 

The  question,  so  '  naively'  put,  remained  for  a  moment  unanswered  : 
for  the  tone  of  kindness  in  which  it  was  spoken  had  caused  him  a  fresh 
surprise,  and  he  was  too  much  confused  to  make  answer.    He  soon  found 
speech,  however,  for  the  hypothetical  reply  : — 
* "  If  you  are  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Loftus  Vaughan " 

"  I  am." 

"Then  I  am  proud  of  calling  myself  your  cousin.  I  am  Herbert 
Vaughan,  from  England." 

Still  under  the  influence  of  the  slight,  which  he  believed  had  been  put 
upon  him,  Herbert  made  this  announcement  with  a  certain  stiffness  of 
manner,  which  the  young  girl  could  not  fail  but  notice.  It  produced  a 
momentary  incongeniality,  that  was  in  danger  of  degenerating  into  a 
positive  coolness  ;  and  Kate,  who  had  come  forth  under  the  prompting 
of  an  affectionate  instinct,  trembled  under  a  repulse,  the  cause  of  which 
she  could  not  comprehend.  It  did  not,  however,  hinder  her  from  cour- 
teously rejoining : — 

"We  were  expecting  you — as  father  had  received  your  letter;  but  not 
today.  Papa  said  not  before  to-morrow.  Permit  me,  cousin,  to  wel- 
come you  to  Jamaica." 

Herbert  bowed  profoundly.  Again  the  young  Creole  felt  her  warm 
impulses  painfully  checked ;  and,  blushing  with  embarrassment,  she 
•tood  in  an  attitude  of  indecision.  Herbert,  whose  heart  had  been  melt- 
ing like  snow  under  a  tropic  sun/now  became  sensible  that  ho  was  com- 
mitting a  rudeness,  which,  so  far  from  being  natural  to  him,  was  costing 
him  a  struggle  to  counterfeit.  Why  should  the  sins  of  the  father  be 
visited  on  the  child,  and  such  a  child  ?  With  a  reflection  kindred  to  this 
the  young  man  hastened  to  change  his  attitudo  of  cold  reserve. 

"  Thanks  for  your  kind  welcome !"  said  he,  now  speaking  in  a  tone  of 


76  THE   ENCOUNTER   OF  THE   COUSINS. 

affectionate  frankness ;  "  but,  fair  cousin ;  you  have  not  told  mo  yom 
name." 

"  Catherine— though  I  am  usually  addressed  by  the  shorter  synonym, 
Kate." 

"  Catherine  1  that  is  a  family  name  with  us  :  my  father's  mother,  and 
your  father's  too— our  grandmamma — was  called  Kate.  Was  it  also 
your  mother's  name  ?'' 

"  No  ;  my  mother  was  called  Quasheba." 
"  Quasheba  that  is  a  very  singular  name." 

"  Do  you  think  so  cousin  ?    I  am  sometimes  called  Quasttba  myself 
— only  by  the  old  people  of  the  plantation,  who  knew  my  mother.     Lilly 
Quasheba  they  call  me.    Papa  does  not  like  it,  and  forbids  them." 
"  Was  your  mother  an  Englishwoman  1" 

"  Oh,  no  !  she  was  b«rn  in  the  island,  and  died  while  I  was  very  young 
—too  young  to  remember  her.  Indeed,  cousin,  I  may  say  I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  have  a  mother  1" 

"  Nor  I  much,  cousin  Kate.    My  mother  also  died  early.     But  are  yon 
my  only  cousin? — no  sisters  nor  brothers  ?" 
"  Not  one.     Ah  1 1  wish  I  had  sisters  and  brothers  1" 
"  Why  do  you  wish  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?    For  companions,  of  course.** 
"  Fair  cousin !     I  should  think  you  would  find  companions  enough  in 
this  beautiful  island." 

"  Ah  1  enough,  perhaps  ;  but  none  whom  I  like — at  least,  not  as  I  think 
I  should  like  a  sister  or  brother.    Indeed,"  added  the  young  girl,  in  i  re- 
flective tone,  "  I  sometimes  feel  lonely  enough  !" 
"Ahl" 

"  Perhaps,  now  that  we  are  to  have  guesti,  it  will  be  different.     Mr 
Smythje  is  very  amusing." 
"  Mr.  Smythje  !    Who  is  he  ?" 

"  What  1  you  do  not  know  Mr.  Smythje  ?  I  thought  that  ycM  and  he 
came  over  in  the  same  ship  ?  Papa  said  so ;  and  that  you  we^e  not  to 
arrive  until  to-morrow.  I  think  you  have  taken  him  by  surprise  in  com- 
ing to-day.  But  why  did  you  not  ride  out  with  Mr.  Smythje  '  He  ar- 
rived here  only  one  hour  before  you,  and  has  just  dined  with  us.  f  have 
left  the  table  this  moment,  for  papa  and  him  to  have  their  cigars.  But, 
bless  me,  cousin  1  Pardon  rne  for  not  asking — perhaps  you  have  not 
dined  yet  ?" 

"  No,  cousin  Kate,"  replied  Herbert,  in  a  grave  tone  ;  *  nor  am  I  likely 
lo  dine  here,  to-day." 

The  storm  of  queries  with  which,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  the 
young  creole  thus  assailed  him  once  more  brought  him  back  into  that 
train  of  bitter  reflection,  from  which  her  fair  presence  and  sweet  converse 
had  for  the  moment  rescued  him.  Hence  the  character  if  his  reply. 

"  And  why,  cousin  Herbert  ?"  asked  she,  in  a  tone  of  marked  surprise. 
"  If  you  have  not  dined,  it  is  not  too  late.  Why  not  here  ?" 

"  Because" — and  the  young  man  drew  himself  proudly  up — "  I  pis fef 
going  without  dinner  to  dining  where  I  am  not  welcome.    In  Mount  Wel- 
come, it  seems,  I  am  not  welcome," 
"  Oh,  cousin "• 


A  BURLY  RECEPTION.  77 

The  words,  ana  tne  appealing  accent  were  alike  interrupted.  The  doorr 
npon  the  landing  turned  upon  its  hinge,  and  Loftus  Vaughan  appeared  in 
the  doorway. 

"Your  father?" 

"  My  father  1" 

"KateJ"  cried  the  planter,  in  a  tone  that  bespoke  displeasure, "  Mi 
Smythje  vould  like  to  hear  you  play  upon  the  harp,  I  have  been  looking 
for  you  is  your  room,  and  all  over  the  house.  What  are  you  doing  ^u1 
here?" 

The  language  was  coarse  and  common — the  manner  that  of  a  /ulgai 
nan  flushed  with  wine. 

"  Oh,  papa  1  cousin  Herbert  is  here.    He  is  waiting  to  see  you." 

"  Come  you  here,  then  1"  was  the  imperious  rejoinder.  "  Come,  Mr. 
Smythje  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  Cousin !  I  must  leave  you." 

11  Yes  :  I  perceive  it.  One  more  worthy  than  I  claims  your  company 
Go  1  Mr.  Smythje  is  impatient." 

"  It  is  papa." 

"  Kate !  Kate  !  are  you  coming  ?    Haste,  girl  I  haste,  I  say  1" 

"  Go,  Miss  Vaughan !    Farewell !" 

"  Miss  Vaughan  ?    Farewell  ?" 

Mystified  and  distressed  by  those  strange-sounding  words,  Kate 
Vaughan  stood  for  some  seconds  undecided  and  speechless;  bet  the 
voice  of  her  father  again  came  ringing  along  the  corridor — now  in  tones 
irate  and  commanding ;  obedience  could  no  longer  be  delayed  ;  and,  with 
a  half-puzzled,  half-reproachful  glance  at  her  cousin,  the  young  girl  reluc- 
tantly parted  from  his  presence. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  SURLY  RECEPTION. 

AJTER  the  yo'ing  creole  had  disappeared  within  the  entrance,  Herbert  re- 
mained in  a  state  of  indecision  as  to  how  he  should  act.  He  no  longer 
needed  an  interview  with  his  uncle  for  the  sake  of  having  an  explana- 
tion. This  new  slight  had  crowned  his  convictions  that  he  was  there  au 
unwelcome  guest,  and  no  possible  apology  could  retrieve  the  ill-treatment  * 
he  had  experienced.  He  would  have  walked  off  on  the  instant  without  a 
word ;  but,  stung  to  the  quick  by  the  series  of  insults  he  had  received, 
the  instinct  of  retaliation  had  sprung  up  within  him,  and  determined  him 
to  stay — at  all  events,  until  he  could  meet  his  relative  face  to  face,  and  re- 
proach him  with  his  churlish  conduct.  He  was  recklessly  indifferent  as 
to  the  result. 

With  this  object,  he  continued  in  the  kiosk — his  patience  being  now 
baited  with  the  prospect  of  that  slight  satisfaction.    He  knew  that  his 
uncle  might  not  care  much  for  what  he  could  say  ;  it  was  not  likely  such 
nature  would  be  affected  by  reproach.     Nevertheless,  the  proud  young 
-  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  giving  words  to  his  defiance,  as 


78  A   SURLY   RECEPTION. 

the  only  course  by  which  he  could  mollify  the  mortification  he  so  keeulj 
felt. 

The  tones  of  a  harp,  vibrating  through  the  far  interior  of  the  dwelling 
faintly  reached  the  kiosk  ;  but  they  fell  on  his  ear  without  any  soothing 
effect.  Rather  did  they  add  to  his  irritation  ;  for  he  could  almost  fancj 
the  music  was  meant  to  mock  him  in  his  misery. 

But  no  :  on  second  thoughts,  that  could  not  be.  Surely,  that  sweet 
f.rain  was  not  intended  to  tantalise  him.  He  caught  the  air.  It  was  one 
squally  appropriate  to  the  instrument  and  to  his  own  situation.  It  waft 
;he  "  Exile  of  Erin." 

Presently  a  voice  was  heard  accompanying  the  music — a  woman's  voictt 
— easily  recognisable  as  that  of  Kate  Vaughan. 

He  listened  attentively.  At  intervals  he  could  hear  the  words.  How 
like  to  his  own  thoughts  ! 

"  *  Sad  is  my  fate,'  said  the  heart -"broken  stranger  : 
4  The  wild  deer  and  wolf  to  the  covert  can  flee ; 
But  I  have  no  refuge  from  famine  and  danger — 
A  home  and  a  country  remain  not  to  me.'  " 

Perhaps  the  singer  intended  it  as  a  song  of  sympathy  for  him  ?  It  cer 
tainly  exerted  an  influence  over  his  spirits,  melting  him  to  a  degree  of 
tenderness. 

Not  for  long,  however,  did  this  feeling  continue.  As  the  last  notes  of 
the  lay  died  away  in  the  distant  corridor,  the  rough  baritones  of  the 
planter  and  his  guest  were  heard  joining  in  loud  laughter — perhaps  some 
joke  at  the  expense  of  himself,  the  poor  exile  ?  Shortly  after  this,  a 
heavy  footstep  echoed  along  the  passage.  The  door  opened  ;  and  Her- 
bert perceived  that  it  was  his  uncle,  who  had  at  length  found  time  to  hon- 
our him  with  an  interview. 

Though  so  joyous  but  the  moment  before,  all  traces  of  mirth  had  dis- 
appeared from  the  countenance  of  Loftus  Vaughan,  when  he  presented 
himself  before  the  eyes  of  his  nephew.  His  face,  habitually  red,  was 
fired  with  the  wine  he  had  been  drinking  to  the  hue  of  scarlet.  Never- 
theless, an  ominous  mottling  of  a  darker  colour  upon  his  broad  massive 
brow  foretold  the  ungracious  reception  his  relative  was  likely  to  have  at 
his  hands. 

His  first  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  insolent  coolness : — 

"  So  you  are  my  brother's  son,  are  you  ?" 

There  was  no  extending  of  the  hand,  no  gesture — not  even  a  smile  «f 
welcome  ! 

Herbert  checked  his  anger,  and  simply  answered — 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  errand  has  brought  you  out  to  Jamaica  ?" 

"If  you  have  received  my  letter,  as  I  presume  you  have,  it  will  have 
answered  that  question." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Vaughan,  with  an  attempt  at  cynicism,  but 
evidently  taken  down  by  the  unexpected  style  of  the  reply.  "  And  what, 
may  I  ask,  do  you  purpose  doing  here  ?'' 

"  Have  not  the  slightest  idea,"  answered  Herbert,  with  a  provoking  air 
»f  independence. 

"  Have  you  any  profession  ?" 


A   BURLY   RECEPTION  79 

**  Unfortunately,  not  any." 

"Any  trade  ?     I  suppose  not?" 

"  Your  suppositions  are  perfectly  correct." 

"  Then,  sir,  how  do  you  expect  to  get  your  bread  ?" 

"  Earn  it,  the  best  way  I  can." 

"  Beg  it,  more  likely,  as  your  father  before  you :  all  his  life  begging  it, 
ind  from  me." 

"  In  that  respect  I  shall  not  resemble  him.  You  would  be  the  last  man 
I  should  think  of  begging  from." 

M  S'death  I  sirrah,  you  are  impertinent.  This  is  fine  language  to  mot 
after  the  disgrace  you  have  already  brought  upon  me." 

"  Disgrace  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  disgrace.  Coming  out  here  as  a  pauper,  in  the  steerage  of 
a  ship  1  And  you  must  needs  boast  of  your  relationship — letting  all  the 
world  know  that  you  are  my  nephew." 

"  Boast  of  the  relationship  1"  repeated  Herbert,  with  a  smile  of  con- 
tempt. "Hal  ha!  ha!  I  suppose  you  refer  to  my  having  answered  a 
question  asked  me  by  this  pretty  jack-a-box  you  are  playing  with.  Boast 
of  it,  indeed !  Had  I  known  you  then  as  well  as  I  do  now,  I  should  have 
been  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it." 

"  After  that,  sir,"  shouted  Mr.  Vaughan,  turning  purple  with  rage — 
"  after  that,  sir,  no  more  words.  You  shall  leave  my  house  this  minute." 

"  I  had  intended  to  have  left  it  some  minutes  sooner.  I  only  stayed  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  telling  you  what  I  think  of  you." 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?  what  is  that  ?" 

The  angry  youth  had  summoned  to  the  top  of  his  tongue  a  few  of  the 
strongest  epithets  he  could  think  of,  and  was  about  to  hurl  them  into  his 
uncle's  teeth,  when,  on  glancing  up,  he  caught  sight  of  an  object  that 
caused  him  to  check  his  intention.  It  was  the  beautiful  face  of  the  young 
Creole,  that  appeared  through  the  half-opened  lattice  of  the  window  op- 
posite. She  was  gazing  down 'upon  him  and  her  father,  arid  listening  to 
the  dialogue  with  an  anguished  expression  of  countenance. 

"  He  is  her  father,"  muttered  Herbert  to  himself;  "for  her  sake  I  shall 
m.t  say  the  words  ;"  and,  without  making  any  reply  to  the  last  interroga- 
tory of  his  uncle,  he  strode  out  of  the  kiosk,  and  was  walking  away. 

"  Stay,  sir !"  cried  the  planter,  somewhat  surprised  at  the  turn  things 
ind  taken.  "  A  word  before  you  go — if  you  are  going.'1 

Herbert  turned  upon  his  heel  and  listened. 

"  Your  letter  informs  me  that  you  are  without  funds  It  sha^l  not  be 
ea:d  that  a  relative  of  Loftus  Vaughan  left  his  house  penniless  and  un- 

?ruvided.     In  this  purse  there  are  twenty  pounds  cnrrency  of  the  island 
ake  it ;  but  on  the  condition  that  you  say  nothing   jf  what  has  occurred 
here ;   and,   furthermore,  that  you  keep  to  yourself,  that  you  are  the 
nephew  of  Loftus  Vaughan." 

Without  saying  a  word,  Herbert  took  the  protfered  purse  ;  but,  in  the 
next  moment,  the  chink  of  the  gold  pieces  was  heard  upon  the  gravel 
walk  as  he  dashed  the  bag  at  the  feet  of  his  uncle. 

Then  turning  to  the  astonished  planter,  and  measuring  him  with  a  look 
that  scorned  all  patronage,  he  faced  once  more  to  the  path,  and -walked 
proudly  away. 


§0  THE   JEW   PENN. 

The  angry  "  Begone,  sir !"  vociferated  after,  was  only  addressed  to  hii 
back,  and  was  altogether  unheeded.  Perhaps  it  was  even  ur-heard,  for 
the  expression  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  told  that  his  attention  waa 
occupied  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

I 


THE   JEW  PENN. 


As  he  walked  towards  the  great  house — with  the  design  of  going  round 
it  to  get  upon  the  avenue — his  glance  was  directed  upwards  to  the  win- 
dow where  that  beautiful  face  had  been  just  seen.  The  lattice  was  now 
closed  ;  and  he  endeavoured  to  pierce  the  sombre  shadows  behind  iL 
Oh  1  for  one  word — one  look — though  it  might  be  a  look  of  sorrow,  per- 
haps of  reproach  1 

There  was  no  look  met  his — no  eyes  were  glancing  through  the  lat- 
tice. 

He  looked  back,  to  see  if  he  might  linger  a  moment  His  uncle  wai 
in  a  bent  attitude,  gathering  the  scattered  pieces  of  gold.  In  this  position 
the  shrubbery  concealed  him. 

Herbert  was  about  to  glide  nearer  to  the  window,  and  call  out  the 
name  oft  Kate  Vaughan,  when  he  heard  his  own  pronounced,  in  a  soft 
whisper,  and  with  the  endearing  word  "  cousin  "  prefixed. 

Distinctly  he  heard  "  Cousin  Herbert."  Not  from  the  lattice  above  did 
the  words  proceed,  but  as  if  spoken  around  the  angle  of  the  building. 

He  hastened  thither  :  for  that  was  his  proper  path  by  which  to  arrive 
at  the  front  of  the  house. 

On  turning  the  wall,  he  looked  up.  He  saw  that  another  window 
opened  from  the  same  chamber.  Thence  came  the  sweet  summons,  and 
there  shone  the  face  for  which  he  was  searching. 

"  Oh,  cousin  Herbert!  do  not  go  in  anger.  Papa  has  done  wrong — 
very  wrong,  I  know  ;  but  he  has  been  taking  much  wine — he  is  not  him- 
self. Good  cousin,  you  will  pardon  him  ?" 

Herbert  was  about  to  make  reply,  when  the  young  Creole  continued  :— 

"  You  said  in  your  letter  you  had  no  money.  You  have  refused 
father's — you  will  not  refuse  mine?  It  is  very  little.  It  is  all  I  have 
Take  it!" 

A  bright  object  glistened  before  the  e#es  of  the  young  man,  and  foi 
with  a  metallic  chink  at  his  feet.  He  looked  down.  A  small  silk  bag 
containing  coin,  with  a  blue  ribbon  attached,  was  lying  upon  the  ground. 
He  raised  it,  and  holding  it  in  one  hand,  hesitated  for  a  moment — as  if  he 
had  thought  of  accepting  it.  It  was  not  that,  however,  but  another 
thought  that  was  passing  in  his  mind, 

His  resolve  was  soon  taken. 

"  Thanks  1"  said  he.  "  Thanks,  cousin  Kate  !"  he  added,  with  increas- 
ing warmth.  "  You  have  meant  kindly,  and  though  we  may  never  meet 
fgain- — " 

Oh,  say  not  so  1"  interrupted  the  young  girl,  with  an  appealing  look. 

"  Yes,"  continued  he,  "  it  is  probable  we  never  may.    Here  there  is  no 


THE  JEW  PENN.  81 

home  for  me.  I  must  go  hence  ;  but,  wherever  I  may  go,  I  shall  not 
soo^n  forget  this  kindness.  I  may  never  have  an  opportunity  of  repaying 
it—you  are  beyond  the  necessity  of  aught  that  an  humble  relative  could 
do  for  you ;  but  remember,  Kate  Vaughan  I  should  you  ever  stand  in  need 
of  a  strong  arm  and  a  stout  heart,  there  is  one  of  your  name  who  will  not 
fail  you ! 

"  Thanks  1"  he  repeated,  detaching  the  ribbon  from  the  bag,  and  fling- 
Ing  the  latter,  with  its  contents,  back  through  the  lattice.  Then,  fasten- 
ing the  ribbon  to  the  breast  button  of  his  coat,  he  added  :  "  I  shall  feel  I 
richer  with  the  possession  of  this  token  than  with  all  the  wealth  of  your  1 
father's  estate.  Farewell !  and  God  bless  you,  my  generous  cousin  1 

Before  the  young  Creole  could  repeat  her  offer,  or  add  another  word  of 
counsel  -or  consolation,  Herbert  Vaughan  had  turned  the  angle  of  the 
building,  and  passed  suddenly  out  of  sight. 

While  these  scenes  were  transpiring  upon  the  plantation  of  Mount 
Welcome,  others  of  still  more  exciting  nature  were  being  enacted  on  that 
which  adjoined  it — the  property  of  Jacob  Jessuron,  slave-merchant  and 
penn-keeper. 

Besides  a  "  baracoon  "  in  the  Bay,  where  his  slaves  were  usually  ex- 
posed for  sale,  the  Jew  was  owner  of  a  large  plantation  in  the  country,  on 
which  he  habitually  resided.  It  lay  contiguous  to  the  estate  of  the  custos 
Vaughan — separated  from  the  latter  by  one  of  the  wooded  ridges  al- 
ready mentioned  as  bounding  the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome. 

Like  the  latter  it  had  once  been  a  sugar  estate,  and  an  extensive  one ; 
but  that  was  before  Jessuron  became  its  owner.  Now  it  was  in  the  con- 
dition termed  ruinate.  The  fields  where  the  golden  cane  had  waved  in  the 
tropic  breeze  were  choked  up  by  a  tangled  "  second  growth,"  restoring 
them  almost  to  their  primitive  wildness.  With  that  quickness  character- 
istic of  equatorial  vegetation,  huge  trees  had  already  sprung  up,  and 
stood  thickly  over  the  ground — logwoods,  bread-nuts,  cotton,  and  cala- 
bash trees,  which,  with  their  pendent  parasites,  almost  usurped  dominion 
over  the  soil.  Here  and  there,  where  the  fields  still  remained  open,  in- 
stead of  cultivation,  there  appeared  only  the  wild  nursery  of  nature — 
glades  mottled  with  flowering  weeds,  as  the  Mexican  horn-poppy,  swal- 
loworts,  West  Indian  vervains,  and  small  passijlorae. 

At  intervals,  where  the.  underwood  permitted  them  to  peep  out,  might 
be  seen  stretches  of  "  dry  wall,"  or  stone  fences,  without  mortar  or 
semont,  mostly  tumbled  down,  the  ruins  thickly  trellised  with  creeping 
plants — as  convolvuli,  cereus,  and  aristolochia  ;  cleome,  with  the  cheer» 
fill  blossoming  lantana  ;  and,  spreading  over  all,  lik«  the  web  of  a  gigan- 
tic spider,  the  yellow  leafless  stems  of  the  American  dodder. 

In  the  midst  of  this  domain,  almost  reconquered  by  nature,  stood  the 
*  great  house  " — except  in  size,  no  longer  deserving  the  appellation.  It 
consisted  rather  of  a,  pile  than  a  single  building — the  old  "  sugar-works  n 
having  been  Joined  utfder  the  same  roof  with  the  dwelling — and  negro 
cabina,  stables,  offices,  all  inclosed  within  an  immense  high  wall,  that 
gave  to  the  place  the  air  of  a  penitentiary  or  barracks,  rather  than  that 
of  a  country  mansion.  The  inclosure,  however,  was  a  modern  construc- 
tion— an  afterthought— designed  for  a  purpose  very  different  from  that 
of  sugar-making. 


82  THE  JEW   PENN. 

Gardei.  there  was  none,  though  evidence  that  there  had  been  was  seen 
everywhere  around  the  building,  in  the  trees  that  still  bloomed  :  some 
loaded  with  delicious  fruits,  others  with  clustering  flowers,  shedding  their 
incense  on  the  air.  Half  wild,  grew  citrons,  and  avocado  pears,  sop  and 
custard  apples,  mangoes,  guavas,  and  pawpaws  ;  while  the  crown-like 
tops  of  cocoa-palms  soared  high  above  the  humbler  denizens  of  this  wild 
orchard,  their  recurvant  fronds  drooping,  as  if  in  grief  at  the  desolation 
around. 

Close  to  the  buildings  stood  several  huge  trees,  whose  tortuous  limlis. 
now  leafless,  rendered  it  easy  to  identify  them.  It  was  the  giant  of  the 
West  Indian  forests — the  silk-cotton  tree  (Eriodendron  anfractuosum}. 
The  limbs  of  these  vegetable  monsters — each  itself  as  large  as  an  ordinary 
tree — were  loaded  with  parasites  of  many  species  ;  among  which  might 
be  distinguished  ragged  cactacas,  with  various  species  of  wild  pines 
(bromelicv),  from  the  noble  vriesia  to  the  hoary,  beard-like  "Spanish  moss," 
whose  long  streaming  festoons  waved  like  winding-sheets  in  the  breeze — 
an  appropriate  draping  for  the  eyrie  of  the  black  vultures  (John  Crows) 
perched  in  solemn  silence  upon  the  topmost  branches. 

In  the  olden  time  this  plantation  had  borne  the  name  of "  Happy  Val- 
lejf ;"  but  during  the  ownership  of  Jessuron,  this  designation — perhaps 
deemed  inappropriate — had  been  generally  dropped  ;  and  the  place  wa» 
never  spoken  of  by  any  other  name  than  that  of  the  "  Jew's  Perm." 

Into  a  "  penn  "  (grazing  farm)  Jessuron  had  changed  it,  and  it  served 
well  enough  for  the  purpose:  many  of  the  old  sugar  fields,  now  over- 
grown with  the  valuable  Guinea  grass,  affording  excellent  pasturage  for 
horses  and  cattle. 

In  breeding  and  rearing  the  former  for  the  use  of  the  sugar  estates, 
and  fattening  the  latter  for  the  beef  markets  of  the  Bay,  the  industrious 
Israelite  had  discovered  a  road  to  riches,  as  short  as  that  he  had  been 
travelling  in  the  capacity  of  slave  dealer  ;  and  of  late  years  he  had  come 
to  regard  the  latter  only  as  a  secondary  calling.  In  his  old  age,  too,  he 
had  become  ambitious  of  social  distinction,  and,  for  this  reason,  was  de- 
sirious  of  sinking  the  slave  merchant  in  the  more  respectable  profession 
of  penn-keeper.  He  had  even  succeeded  so  far  in  his  views  as  to  have  him- 
self appointed  a  justice  of  the  peace — an  office  that,  in  Jamaica,  as  else- 
where, is  more  distinctive  of  wealth  than  respectability. 

In  addition  to  penn-keeper,  the  Jew  was  also  an  extensive  spice-culti- 
vator, or  rather  spice  gatherer:  for  the  indigenous  pimento  forests  that 
covered  the  hills  upon  his  estate  required  no  cultivation — nothing  farther 
than  to  collect  the  aromatic  berries,  and  cure  them  on  the  barbacoa. 

Though  changed  from  a  plantation  to  a  penc,  the  estate  of  Jacob  »Te»- 
suron  was  not  leas  a  scene  of  active  industrial  life. 

In  the  fields  adjacent  to  the  house,  and  through  the  glades  ol  Guinea 
grass,  horses  and  half-wild  cattle  might  be  seen  in  turns  neighing  and 
bellowing,  pursued  by  mounted  herdsmen,  black  and  half-naked. 

Among  the  groves  of  pimento  on  the  hills,  gangs  of  negro  wenchea 
could  be  heard  screaming  amd  chattering  continually,  as  they  picked  the 
allspice  berries  from  the  branches ;  or,  poising  the  filled  baskets  on  their 
heads,  marched  in  long,  chanting  files  towards  the  barbacoa. 

Outaide  the  gate-entrance,  upon  the  broad  avenue  leading  to  the  main 


THE  JEW  PENN.  83 

road,  negro  horse-tamers  mi°;hT  ever}T  day  be  observed,  giving  their  first 
lessons  to  rough  colta  fresh  caught  from  the  pastures  ;  while  inside  the 
grand  inclosure,  fat  oxen  were  slaughtered  to  supply  the  markets  of  the 
Bay — huge,  gaunt  dogs  holding  carnival  over  the  offal — while  black 
butchers,  naked  to  the  waist,  their  brown  arras  reeking  with  red  gore, 
stalked  over  the  ground,  brandishing  blood-stained  blades,  and  other  in- 
struments of  their  sanguinary  calling. 

Such  scenes  might  be  witnessed  diurnally  on  the  estate  of  Jacob  Jes- 
suron  ;  but  on  the  day  succeeding  that  on  which  the  slave  merchant  had 
made  his  unsuccessful  errand  to  Mount  Welcome,  a  spectacle  of  a  some- 
what rarer  kind  was  about  to  be  exhibited  at  the  penn. 

The  scene  chosen  for  this  exhibition  was  an  inner  inclosure,  or  court- 
yard, that  lay  contiguous  to  the  dwelling — the  great  house  itself  farming 
one  side  of  this  court,  and  opening  upon  it  by  a  broad  verandah,  of  a 
dingy,  dilapidated  appearance. 

1  Vis-a-vis '  with  the  dwelling  was  another  large  building,  which  shut  in 
the  opposite  side  of  the  court — the  two  being  connected  by  high,  massive 
walls,  that  completed  the  quadrangle.  A  strong,  double  gate,  opening 
near  the  centre  of  one  of  these  walls,  was  the  way  out — that  is,  to  the 
larger  inclosure  of  the  cattle-penn. 

From  the  absence  of  chimneys  and  windows,  as  well  as  from  its  plain 
style  of  architecture,  the  building  that  stood  opposite  the  dwelling-house 
might  have  been  taken  for  some  large  granary  or  barn,  But  a  peep  into 
its  interior  at  onca  controverted  this  idea.  Inside  were  seen  groups  of 
human  beings,  of  all  colours,  from  ebony  black  to  jaundice  yellow,  in  all 
attitudes — seated,  standing,  or  lying  upon  the  floor — and  not  a  few  of 
them,  in  pairs,  manacled  to  one  another.  Their  attitudes  were  not  more 
various  than  the  expression  upon  their  faces  and  features.  Some  looked 
sad  and  sullen  ;  some  glanced  fearfully  around,  as  if  waking  from  horrid 
dreams,  and  under  the  belief  that  they  were  realities ;  others  wore  the 
vacant  stare  of  idiotqy  ;  while  here  and  there  a  group — apparently  re- 
gardless of  past,  present,  or  future — chattered  in  their  barbaric  language, 
with  an  air  of  gaiety  that  bespoke  the  most  philosophic  insouciance. 

The  building  that  contained  them  was  the  baracoon — the  storehouse  of 
the  slave  merchant.  Its  occupants  were  his  stores ! 

The  "  stock  "  had  been  recently  replenished  by  the  cargo  of  a  slave 
ship,  but  there  were  also  some  old  "  bales  "  on  hand  ;  and  these  were  in 
the  act  of  entertaining  the  new  comers,  and  initiating  them  into  the  wayf 
of  the  place.  Their  means  of  showing  hospitality  had  been  limited — a* 
testified  by  the  empty  calabashes  and  clean-scraped  wooden  platters  that 
lay  scattered  over  the  floor.  Not  a  grain  of  rice,  not  a  spoonful  of  the 
pepper-pot,  not  a  slice  of  plantain  was  left.  The  emptiness  of  the  vessels 
showed  that  the  rations  had  been  as  short,  as  the  viands  were  coarse  and 
common, 

Outside,  in  the  yard,  were  many  groups,  happier  to  escape  from  the 
stifled  atmosphere  of  their  crowded  quarters  ;  though  that  was  freedom 
when  compared  with  the  'tween-decks  of  the  middle  passage. 

Each  group  was  gathered  around  some  old  hand — some  compatriot 
who  had  preceded  them  actoss  the  great  sea — and  who,  himself  initiated 
into  slavery  under  a  western  sky,  wa«  giving  them  some  notions  of  what 


84  THE   JEW   PENH. 

they  had  to  expect.  Eager  looks  of  all,  from  time  to  time  directed  to- 
wards the  verandah,  told  that  they  were  awaiting  some  event  of  iworc 
than  ordinary  interest. 

There  were  white  men  in  the  court-yard — three  of  them.  Two  were 
of  dark  complexion— «o  swarth  that  many  of  the  coloured  slaves  were  a* 
fair-skinned  as  they.  These  last  were  lounging  by  the  stairway  of  the 
verandah — one  of  them  seated  upon  the  steps.  Both  were  sparely  clad 
in  check  shirts  and  trowsers,  having  broad-brimmed  palmetto  hats  on 
their  heads,  and  rough  buckskins  on  their  feet  and  ankles. 

Each  carried  a  long  rapier-like  blade — a  machete — hanging  over  his  hip 
in  its  leathern  sheath  ;  while  a  brace  of  fierce  dogs — looped  in  cotton 
rope  leashes,  attached  to  belts  worn  around  their  waists — crouched  upon 
the  ground  at  their  feet. 

The  faces  of  these  men  were  clean  shaven,  a  pointed  chin-tuft,  or 
"  bigots,"  alone  being  left ;  and  the  hair  on  the  heads  of  both  was  close 
cropped.  Their  sharp,  angular  features  were  thus  fully  displayed,  de- 
noting a  high  order  of  intelligence,  which  might  have  produced  a  pleas- 
ing effect,  but  for  the  pronounced  expression  of  cruelty  which  accom- 
panied it 

The  exclamations  that  from  time  to  time  escaped  from  their  lips,  with 
the  few  words  of  conversation  that  passed  between  them,  spoke  of  a 
Spanish  origin.  Their  costumes,  their  arms  and  accoutrements — their 
comrades,  the  fierce  dogs  —  plainly  proclaimed  their  calling,  as  well 
as  the  country  whence  they  came.  They  were  '  cacadores  do  negros ' — 
negro-hunters  of  Cuba. 

The  third  white  man  who  appeared  in  the  court-yard  differed  essential 
ly  from  these — not  so  much  in  colour,  for  he  was  also  of  swarth  com- 
plexion— but  in  size,  costume,  and  calling.  A  pair  of  horseskin  riding- 
boots  reached  up  to  his  thighs,  on  the  heels  of  which  appeared  heavy 
spurs,  with  rowels  three  inches  hi  diameter.  A  sort  of  monkey  jacket  of 
thick  cloth — notwithstanding  its  unsuitableness  to  the  climate — hung 
down  to  his  hips,  under  which  appeared  a  waistcoat  of  scarlet  plush, 
with  tarnished  metal  buttons,  and  a  wool  comforter  of  the  same  flaming 
colour.  Crowning  all  was  a  felt  hat ;  which,  like  the  other  articles  'jf 
his  dress,  gave  evidence  of  exposure  to  all  weathers — sun  and  rain,  storm 
and  tornado. 

A  thick  shock  of  curling  hair,  so  dark  in  colour  as  to  pass  for  black  ;  a 
heavy  beard,  jet  black,  and  running  most  of  the  way  around  his  mouth  ; 
amber-coloured  eyes,  with  a  sinister,  shining  light  that  never  seemed  to 
pale  ;  lips  of  an  unnatural  redness  gleaming  through  the  black  beard  ;  and 
a  nose  of  aquiline  oblique,  were  the  points  in  the  personal  appearance  of 
this  man  that  most  prominently  presented  themselves. 

The  effect  of  their  combination  was  to  impress  you  with  the  conviction 
that  the  individual  in  question  belonged  to  the  same  nationality  as  the 
proprietor  of  the  penn.  Such  was  in  reality  the  case :  for  the  bearded 
man  was  another  of  the  race  of  Abraham,  and  one  of  its  least  amiablt 
specimens.  Hia  name  was  Havener,  his  calling  that  of  overseer  :  ho  was 
the  overseer  of  Jessuron.  The  symbol  of  his  profession  he  carried  under 
his  arm — a  huge  cart-whip.  He  had  it  by  him  at  all  hours — by  night,  ai 
ty  day—for,  by  night,  as,  by  day,  was  he  accustomed  to  wake  use  of  it 


A  FtEBY    i3Af"fiSM.  85 

And  the  victims  ef  his  long  lash  were  neither  oxen  noi  hor&e~  they  wer« 


No  sparing  use  made  he  of  this  hideous  implement.  "  Crack,  crack  I" 
was  it  heard  from  morn  to  eve  ,  "crack,  crack  1"  from  eve  to  midnight  j 
if  need  be,  from  midnight  to  morning  again  ;  for  some  said  that  the  over- 
seer of  Jessuron  never  slept.  "  Crack,  crack  !"  did  he  go  through  the 
court-yard,  proud  to  show  off  his  power  before  the  newly  arrived  ne- 
groes —  here  and  there  swinging  h'is  long  bitter  lash  among  the  grouf«,M 
if  to  break  up  and  scatter  them  in  sheer  wantonness  1 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A      FIERY      BAPTISM. 

IT  was  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day.  Jessuron  and  his  daughter  had 
just  stepped  forth  into  the  verandah,  and  taken  their  stand  by  the  balus- 
trade looking  down  into  the  court.  The  countenances  of  both  betrayed 
a  certain  degree  of  solicitude  ;  as  if  they  had  come  out  to  be  witnesses 
to  some  spectacle  of  more  than  common  interest. 

The  house  wenches  and  other  domestics,  trooping  behind  them  with 
curious  looks,  showed  that  some  rare  scene  was  to  be  enacted.  A  small 
iron  furnace,  filled  with  live  coals,  had  been  placed  in  the  courtyard, 
near  the  bottom  of  the  steps.  Three  or  four  sullen-looking  men — blacks 
and  mulattoes — stood  around  it  in  lounging  attitude.  One  of  these  stoop- 
ed over  the  furnace,  turning  in  the  fire  what  appeared  to  be  a  soldering 
iron,  or  some  other  instrument  of  a  brazier.  It  was  not  that  however,  as 
the  spectators  well  knew.  All  who  beheld  it  recognised  the  dreaded 
branding  iron :  for  every  one  present,  the  whites  and  newly  arrived 
Africans  excepted,  had,  ere  now,  felt  its  hot,  seething  fire  in  their  flesh. 
These  last  had  already  learnt  what  was  preparing  for  them  ;  and  stood  re- 
garding the  preparations,  most  of  them  with  looks  of  silent  awe.  Some 
Coromrantees  there  were  among  the  number,  who  looked  on  with  reckless 
indifference,  chatting  as  gaily — and,  at  intervals,  laughing  as  loudly — as 
if  they  awaited  the  beginning  of  some  merry  game.  Little  did  these 
courageous  sons  of  Ethiopia — whose  sable  skins  bore  scars  of  many  a 
native  fray — little  cared  they  for  the  scorching  of  that  red  brand. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  inhuman  spectacle  commenced.  The  entrance 
of  Jessuron  and  his  daughter  was  the  cue  to  begin ;  and  the  bearded  over- 
seer, who  was  master  of  the  ceremonies,  had  only  been  waiting  till  these 
should  make  their  appearance.  The  man,  from  experience,  knew  that  hi» 
master  always  gave  his  personal  superintendance  when  such  a  scene  wag 
to  be  enacted.  He  knew,  moreover,  that  his  master's  daughter  was  equally 
accustomed  to  assist  at  these  interesting  ceremonies  1 

"  Go  on,  Mishter  Havener  1"  cried  the  Jew,  reaching  the  front  of  the 
verandah.  "  Thesh  first,"  he  added,  pointing  towards  a  group  of  Eboes — 
who  stood  trembling  with  apprehension  in  the  corner  of  the  yard.  At  a 
•ign  from  the  overseer,  who  was  one  of  the  taciturn  sort,  a  number  of 
old  negroes — evidently  used  to  the  business  laid  hands  upon  the  Eboea 
and  led  them  up  to  the  furnace. 


8£  A  FIERY    BAPTISM 

As  the  victims  were  brought,  near  to  the  ^re,  ami  saw  the  red  if<$& 
glowing  amid  the  coals,  fear  became  more  vividly  depicted  upon  their 
faces,  and  their  frames  shook  with  a  convulsive  terror.  Some  of  them, 
the  younger  ones,  screamed  aloud,  and  would  have  rushed  away  from  the 
spot — had  they  not  been  held  in  the  grasp  of  the  attendants.  Their  ap- 
peals, made  by  the  most  pitiful  looks  and  gestures,  were  answere-l  only 
by  unfeeling  jeers  and  shouts  of  laughter  in  which  the  old  Jew  himself 
I'cined — in  which,  incredible  to  relate,  joined  his  beautiful  daughter  1  Noi 
was  it  a  mere  smile  which  appeared  on  the  face  of  the  fair  Judith ;  cloai 
laughter  rang  from  her  lips,  exhibiting  her  regular  rows  of  pretty  wliite 
teeth — as  if  some  fiend  had  assumed  the  form  of  an  angel  1 

The  Eboes  were  led  forward,  and  held  firmly  by  the  assistants,  while 
their  breasts  were  presented  to  receive  the  brand.  The  red  hot  iron 
flashed  for  a  moment  in  the  eyes  of  each ;  then  fell  with  a  dull  clap  upon 
the  clammy  skin.  Smoke  ascended  with  a  hiss,  followed  by  the  smell  of 
roasting  flesh.  A  struggle,  some  wild  cries,  and  the  operation  was  over. 
The  slave  was  marked  with  those  indelible  initials,  to  be  carried  with 
him  to  his  grave.  One  by  one  the  Eboes  received  this  terrible  baptism, 
and  were  led  away  from  the  ground.  A  batch  of  Pawpaws — from  the 
Whidaw  country — came  next.  They  were  brought  up  one  by  one,  like 
the  Eboes ;  but  altogether  unlike  these  was  their  behaviour.  They 
neither  gave  way  to  extreme  fear,  nor  yet  displayed  extraordinary  cour- 
age. They  appeared  to  submit  with  a  sort  of  docile  resignation :  as 
though  they  regarded  it  in  the  light  of  a  destiny  or  duty.  The 
operation  of  branding  them*  was  a  short  work,  and  afforded  no  mirth  to 
tho  by-standers ;  as  there  was  no  ludicrous  display  of  terror  to  laugh  at. 
This  facile  disposition  renders  the  Whidaw  people  the  most  valuable  of 
slaves.  A  group  of  Coromantees  were  now  to  undergo  the  fiery  ordeal. 
Theke  bold  and  warlike  indigenes  of  Africa,  evinced,  by  their  attitudes 
and  actions,  the  possession  of  a  moral  nature  altogether  different  from 
that  either  of  Pawpaw  or  Eboe.  Instead  of  waiting  to  be  led  forward, 
each  stepped  boldly  up,  as  he  did  so,  baring  his  breast  to  receive  the  red 
brand,  at  which  he  glanced  with  an  air  of  lordly  contempt. 

One  young  fellow  even  seized  the  iron  from  the  grasp  of  the  operator, 
and  turning  it  in  his  hand,  struck  the  stamp  firmly  against  his  breast, 
where  he  held  it  until  the  seething  flesh  told  that  a  deep  imprint  had  beer, 
made.  Then,  flinging  the  instrument  back  into  the  furnace,  he  strode 
«>vay  from  the  spot  with  the  air  of  a  triumphant  gladiator  1  At  this  mo 
uent  there  occurred  a  pause  in  the  proceedings — not  as  if  the  drama  vvd* 
ended,  bat  only  an  act.  Another  was  still  to  come. 

Ravener  stepped  up  to  the  verandah,  in  front  of  the  place  where  Jes- 
Huron  and  his  daughter  stood.  With  the  former,  or  indeed  with  both,  he 
communicated  in  a  voice  just  audible,  but  not  as  if  with  any  design  of 
concealing  what  he  said — only  because  he  was  at  no  time  a  loud-talker. 

The  two  man-hunters  were  the  only  persons  there  he  might  have  had 
*iiy  care  to  be  cautious  about ;  but  these  were  at  the  moment  busy  with 
their  doge,  and  not  heeding  aught  that  was  going  on.  Branding  a  batch 
Hi*  negroes  was  no  new  sight  to  them  ;  and  they  were  spectators,  merely 
tVora  having,  at  the  moment,  nothing  better  to  do. 

"Which  next?"  was  the  question  put  by  Havener  to  the  Jew  ;  "  the 
Mandingoe*  ?" 


A    FIEftY    BAPTISM.  87 

"Either  them,  or  the  pritish,"  replied  Jcssuron  ;  "it  don't  mattei  which 
!sh  marked  first." 

"  Oh,  the  prince  first,  by  all  means!"  suggested  the  amiable  Judith^ 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  Bring  him  out  first,  Mr.  Havener  ;  I'm  cu- 
rious to  see  how  his  royal  highness  will  stand  fire." 

The  overseer  made  no  reply  ;  but,  taking  the  wish  of  the  young  lady 
for  an  order,  proceeded  to  obey  it. 

Stepping  across  the  court,  he  opened  a  door  at  one  corner  that  led  into 
ft  room  separate  from  that  in  which  the  slaves  had  been  lodged.  The 
overseer  entered  the  room.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  out  again,  bring' 
lag  with  him  an  individual  who,  by  his  dress,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  recognise  as  the  young  Fellata  seen  on  board  the  slaver,  but  whose 
noble  mien  still  rendered  it  possible  to  identify  him ;  for  it  was  he. 

Changed,  indeed,  was  his  costume.  The  turban  was  gone,  the  rich 
gilfcen  tunic,  the  sandals  and  scimetar — all  his  finery  had  been  stripped 
off;  and,  in  its  place,  appeared  a  coarse  Osnaburg  shirt  and  trowsers 
— the  dress  of  a  plantation  negro.  He  looked  wretched,  but  not  crest- 
fallen. 

No  doubt  he  had  by  this  time  learnt,  or  suspected,  the  fate  that  was  in 
store  for  him  ;  but,  for  all  that-,  his  features  exhibited  the  proud  air  of  a 
prince ;  and  the  glances  which  he  cast  upon  the  overseer  by  his 
side,  but  oftener  upon  Jessuron — whose  instrument  he  knew  the  othei 
to  be — were  those  of  concentrated  anger  and  defiance.  Not  a  word  es- 
caped his  lips,  either  of  protest  or  reproach.  This  had  all  passed  before 
— when  the  first  rude  assault  had  been  made  upon  hba,  to  deprive  him 
of  his  garments  and  the  adornments  of  his  person.  T*  e  hour  of  recrimi- 
nation was  past.  He  saw  he  had  no  alternative  but  submission,  and  he 
was  submitting — though  in  angry  and  sullen  silence.  He  knew  not  what 
was  now  intended  to  be  done  to  him.  He  had  been  shut  up  in  a  window- 
less  room,  and  saw  nothing  of  the  spectacle  that  had  just  passed.  Some 
new  outrage  he  anticipated ;  but  of  what  nature  he  could  not  give  a 
guess.  He  was  not  allowed  to  remain  long  in  ignorance.  Havener, 
roughly  grasping  him  by  the  wrist,  led  him  up  to  the  furnace.  The  iron 
by  this  time  was  ready,  glowing  red  hot  among  the  coals.  The  operator 
stood  watching  for  the  signal  to  use  it ;  and  this  being  given,  he  seized 
the  instrument  in  his  grasp,  and  poised  it  aloft.  The  prince  now  per- 
ceived the  intention,  but  shrank  not  at  the  sight.  His  eyes  were  not  upon 
the  iron,  but,  gleaming  with  a  fire  like  that  of  the  furnace,  were  now  di- 
rected upon  the  face  of  the  old  Jew — now  upon  that  of  the  angel -like 
demon  at  his  side.  The  Jew  alone  shrank  from  the  glance  .  his  daughter 
returned  it  with  a  mocking  imperturbability.  In  another  instant  the  red 
brand  hissed  as  it  burnt  into  the  flesh  of  the  Fellata's  bosom.  Prince 
Cingtues  was  the  slave  of  Jacob  Jessuron !  As  if  the  terrible  reality 
had  now  for  the  first  time  burst  upon  him,  the  young  man  leaped  forward 
with  a  cry ;  and  before  any  one  could  oppose  his  progress,  he  had  bound- 
ed up  the  steps  and^entered  the  verandah.  Then,  rushing  along  the  gal- 
lery,  to  the  spot  occupied  by  Jessuron  and  his  daughter,  lie  sprung 
up  like  a  tiger,  and  launched  himself  forward  upon  the  Jew.  AH  ho 
clutched  the  latter  by  the  throat,  both  caine  together  to  the  ground,  and 
rolled  over  and  over  in  the  writhings  of  a  desperate  struggle.  Fortunate 


88  £  OOTTOH  OF  SILK  CDTTOJT. 

it  was  fcr  the  slave  n^rch  ant  that  his  victim  had  been  disarmed:  else 
that  moment  would  have  been  fatal  to  him.  As  it  was,  he  came  very  neat 
being  strangled ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  Havener  and  the  two  Spaniarda 
who  hastened  to  his  rescue,  the  betrayal  of  the  Foolah  prince  would  have 
been  the  last  treason  of  his  life.  Overpowered  by  numbers,  and  by  the 
brutal  strength  of  the  overseer,  Cingues  was  at  length  secured,  and  the 
throat  of  the  slave  merchant  was  extricated  from  his  death-like  clutch. 

"  Kill  him  1"  cried  the  Jew,  as  soon  as  he  found  breath  to  speak.  "No. 
don't  kill  him  yet,"  added  he,  correcting  himself,  "  cot  joosh  yet,  till  1 
punish  him  fustl  an'  if  I  don't  punish  him — ach!" 

"  Flog  the  savage  1"  shouted  the  beautiful  Judith  ;  "  make  an  example 
ot  him,  Mr.  Havener  ;  else  those  others  will  be  rising  upon  us  in  the  same 
style." 

"  Yesh,  flog  him!  that'll  do  to  begin  with.  Flog  him  now,  good  Rave 
ner  !  Give  him  a  hundred  lashes  thish  minute  1" 

"  Ay,  ay  I"  responded  the  overseer,  dragging  the  victim  down  the  steps; 
"  I'll  give  him  his  full  dose — never  fear  you !" 

Ravener  was  as  good  as  his  word.  The  spectacle  that  followed  was 
even  more  horrible  to  behold  than  that  which  has  been  described  ;  for 
the  punishment  of  the  lash  is  among  the  most  fearful  of  exhibitions. 

The  young  Foolah  was  tied  to  a  post — one  that  stood  there  for  the 
purpose.  A  strong  headman  wielded  the  cruel  quirt;  and  as  the  last 
stripe  was  administered,  completing  that  horrid  hundred,  the  poor  victim 
sank,  fainting  and  bloody,  against  the  stake  I 

The  occupants  of  the  verandah  showed  not  the  slightest  signs  of  hav« 
ing  been  moved  to  pity  by  this  horrid  spectacle.  On  the  contrary,  both 
father  and  daughter  seemed  to  draw  delight  from  iij  and  instead  of  retir- 
ing when  the  fearful  scene  was  over,  both,  seemingly  with  perfect  uncon- 
cern, remained  to  witness  the  finale  of  the  day's  work — the  marking  of 
the  Mandingoes  1 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A    COUCH    OF   BILK    OOTTOW 

OK  parting  from  the  presence  of  his  fair  cousin,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
from  the  house  of  his  inhospitable  relative,  Herbert  Vaughan  struck  off 
ihrough  the  shrubbery  that  stretched  towards  the  ridge  on  the  right. 

Notwithstanding  the  storm  that  was  raging  hi  his  breast,  a  reflection 
had  occurred  to  him,  which  hindered  him  from  going  by  the  main  avenue. 
Suffering  from  a  keen  sense  of  humiliation,  he  had  no  desire  to  meet  with 
any  of  his  uncle's  people ;  since  the  very  slaves  seemed  to  be  privy  to 
his  false  position.  Still  less  desirious  was  he  of  being  observed,  while 
making  the  long  traverse  of  the  avenue,  by  eyes  that  might  be  directed 
upon  him  from  the  windows  of  the  great  house.  On  reaching  the  limit* 
of  the  level  platform,  he  leaped  a  low  wall,  that  separated  the  shrubbery 
from  the  outer  fields ;  and  then,  under  cover  of  the  pimento  groves,  con* 
menced  ascending  the  slope  of  the  ridge. 


L  COUCH   OF    8JL&    COfrOK.  89 


For  some  time  the  conflicting  emotions  that  were  stirring  ir:  his  BOU] 

hindered  him  from  anything  like  tranquil  reflection.     Conflicting,  I  say  j 

for  two  very  opposite  sentiments  had  been  aroused  by  the  two  individ- 

uals with  whom  he  had  just  held  interviews  ;  opposite  as  darkness  from 

day  —  as  sorrow  from  joy  —  perhaps,  as  hate  from  love.    The  conflict 

might  have  lasted  longer,  had  there  been  an  oppcrtunity  to  give  way  to 

idle  emotions  ;  but  there  was  not.    The  young  man  felt  too  forlorn  and 

friendless  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  passionate  thought  ;  and,  on  this 

t  account,  the  sooner  did  the  storm  subside.    His  first  reflection,  after  caku 

|  had  been  partially  restored,  was,  "  Whither  ?"  and  the  answer,  "  To  Mon- 

Uego  Bay." 

What  he  should  do  on  his  arrival  there  was  not  so  easily  answered. 
He  had  no  longer  a  claim  for  shelter  on  board  the  ship  —  though  no  doubt 
the  friendly  fellows  of  the  forecastle  would  have  made  him  welcome  as 
ever  to  a  share  of  their  "  bunks"  and  sea  biscuits.  But  Herbert  knew  that 
the  hospitality  of  the  Sea  Nymph  was  not  theirs  to  bestow  ;  and,  even  if 
it  had  been,  it  could  not  long  avail  him. 

To  return  to  England  again,  and  by  the  same  ship,  might  have  entered 
his  thoughts  ;  but  that  was  out  of  the  question.  It  had  cost  him  twenty 
pounds,  and  his  last  shilling,  to  come  out.  It  would  have  required  the 
same  amount  to  pay  his  passage  back  —  therefore  the  idea  was  not  to  be 
entertained  for  a  moment.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  returning  did  not  en- 
ter his  mind  ?  Perhaps  he  would  not  have  gone  back,  had  a  free  passage 
been  offered  him  ?  Neither  of  these  suppositions  is  improbable.  Not- 
withstanding the  ill-treatment  he  had  received  from  his  uncle  —  notwith- 
standing the  now  desperate  situation  of  his  affairs  —  there  was  something, 
he  scarce  knew  what,  that  hindered  him  from  hating  Jamaica  —  ay,  even 
from  hating  Mount  Welcome,  the  scene  of  his  greatest  humiliation  !  On 
reaching  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  before  plunging  into  the  deep  forest 
that  stretched  away  on  the  other  side,  he  endeavoured,  through  an  open- 
Ing  in  the  trees,  to  catch  a  view  of  those  white  walls  and  green  jalousies. 
In  that  glance  there  was  more  of  regretfulness  than  anger  —  an  expres- 
sion of  despair,  such  as  may  have  appeared  on  the  face  of  the  fallen 
angel  when  gazing  back  over  the  golden  palings  of  Paradise.  As  the 
young  man  turned  away,  and  entered  under  the  sombre  shadows  of  the 
forest,  the  expression  of  despair  seemed  to  beccme  deeper  and  darker. 
To  make  Montego  Bay  —  to  seek  in  it  such  humble  home  as  might  offer  — 
tp  wait  there  till  his  poorly-stocked  portmanteau,  now  on  its  way  to 
Mcunt  Welcome,  should  be  returned  to  him  —  these  were  the  simple  plan* 
that  suggested  themselves.  His  mind  was  still  too  much  on  the  rack  to 
permit  of  his  dwelling  upon  any  ulterior  purpose. 

He  walked  on  through  the  woods,  without  taking  much  heed  as  to  the 
direction  in  which  he  was  going.  Any  one  who  could  have  seen  him 
just  then  might  have  supposed  that  he  had  lost  his  way,  and  was 
wandering. 

It  was  not  so,  however.  He  knew,  or  believed,  that  by  keeping  to  the 
left  of  his  former  course,  he  would  get  out  upon  the  main  road,  by  which 
he  had  reached  the  entrance  gate  of  Mount  Welcome.  In  any  case,  he 
could  not  fail  to  find  the  river  he  had  already  crossed  ;  and,  by  following 
it  downward,  he  ^arould  in  time  arrive  at  the  town.  With  this  confidence, 


90  A  cotron  ov  SILTC  COTTOIC. 

false  as  it  may  havo  been,  lie  was  not  wandering — only  absoibed  la 
thought — iii  coniraou  pai'lance,  absent-minded.  Bat  this  absence  of  mind 
lasted  so  long,  that  it  led  to  the  result  it  resembl«d  :  he  lost  his  "way  in 
reality.  The  trees  hindered  him  from  seeing  the  sun — now  low  down. 
But  even  if  a  view  of  the  golden  orb  had  been  afforded  him.  it  would  have 
served  no  purpose:  since,  on  riding  out  to  Mount  Welcome,  he  had  taken 
no  note  of  the  relative  directions  between  it  and  the  Bay.  He  was  not 
Bttuch  disconcerted  by  the  discovery  that  he  had  lost  himself.  The  reflec- 
tion, that  m  Montego  Bay  he  would  be  no  better  off,  hindered  him  from 
greatly  regretting  the  circumstance.  He  had  not  the  means  to  command 
the  shelter  of  a  roof — even  in  the  midst  of  a  whole  city  full — and  the 
chances  were  he  might  find  none  better  than  that  which  was  above  him 
at  the  moment — the  spreading  fronds  of  a  gigantic  "  ceiba,"  or  cotton- 
tree. 

At  the  time  that  this  reflection  crossed  his  mind,  the  sun  had  gone  quite 
down :  for  the  cotton-tree  stood  upon  the  edge  of  an  opening  where  he 
could  see  the  sky  above  him,  and  he  perceived  that  it  was  already  tinged 
with  the  purple  of  twilight.  To  find  his  way  in  the  darkness  would  be 
no  longer  possible,  and  he  resolved  for  that  night  to  accept  the  hospita- 
lity of  the  "  ceiba." 

It  had  even  spread  a  couch  for  him :  for  the  seed  capsules  had  burst 
upon  its  branches,  and  the  pale-brown  staple  thickly  covered  the  ground 
beneath,  offering  a  couch  that,  under  the  canopy  of  a  West  Indian  sum- 
mer sky,  was  sufficiently  luxuriant. 

Was  there  a  supper  as  well  ?  Herbert  looked  around — he  was  hungry. 
Not  a  morsel  had  he  eaten  since  breakfast,  only  a  piece  of  mess-pork  and 
a  brown  wormy  biscuit,  on  parting  from  the  ship.  Hunger  had  already 
made  itself  felt.  During  his  wanderings,  having  his  gun  with  him,  he  had 
looked  out  for  game.  Had  any  appeared,  he  was  too  good  a  sportsman  to 
nave  let  it  escape.  But  none  had  shown  itself — neither  beast  nor  bird. 
The  woods  seemed  deserted  as  himself.  He  could  hear  the  voices  of 
birds — all  strange  to  his  ear — he  could  see  bright-winged  creatures  flut- 
tering among  the  trees  ;  but  none  near  enough  for  the  range  of  his  fowl- 
ing-piece. Now  that  he  had  come  to  a  halt,  and  having  nothing  better  to 
do,  he  took  his  stand,  watching  the  open  glade.  Perhaps  some  bird  might 
yet  show  itself,  passing  from  tree  to  tree,  or  flying  about  in  pursuit  of 
prey.  It  was  the  hour  for  owls.  He  felt  hungry  enough  to  eat  one. 

Neither  owl  nor  night-jar  came  in  sight ;  but  his  attention  was  attract- 
ed to  an  object  edible  as  either,  and  which  promised  to  relieve  him  from 
the  pangs  he  was  suffering. 

Close  oy  the  cotton-tree  stood  another  giant  of  the  forest — rivalling  the 
former  in  height,  but  differing  from  it  as  an  arrow  from  its  bow.  Straight 
as  a  lance,  it  rose  to  the  height  of  an  hundred  feet.  It  was  branchless,  as 
a  column  of  polished  malachite  or  marble — up  to  its  high  summit,  where 
its  green,  feather-like  fronds,  radiating  outward,  drooped  gracefully  over, 
like  a  circlet  of  reflexed  ostrich  plumes. 

A  child  could  have  told  it  to  be  a  palm,  but  Herbert  knew  more  :  he 
had  heard  ol  the  noble  "  mountain  cabbage"  of  Jamaica — the  kingly  zreca 
wedoxia.  He  knew  that  in  the  centre  of  that  circlet  of  far-stretching 
fronds — in  that  crown — there  was  a  jewel  that  had  often  proved  mor« 


THE  TREE   FOUNTAtH.  91 

Erecious  than  gems  or  gold  :  for  often  had  it  been  the  means  of  saving 
imian  life.  How  was  tins  jewel  to  be  obtained  ?  Like  all  crowns,  it  waa 
placed  high — far  above  theVeach  of  ordinary  mortals.  Young  and  active 
though  he  was,  and  a  climber  at  school,  he  could  never  "  swarm  up"  that 
tall,  smooth  shaft.  Without  a  ladder  an  hundred  feet  in  length,  it  would 
Dot  be  possible  to  reach  its  summit.  But,  see  !  the  palm-tree  stands  not 
alone.  A  great  black  lliana — a  parasite — stretches  tortuously  from  the 
earth  up  to  the  crown,  where  its  head  is  buried  among  the  feathery 
fronds,  as  if  it  were  some  huge  dragon  in  the  act  of  devouring  his  victim! 
Herbert  stood  for  a  moment  reconnoitering  this  grand  stay-cable,  th-n', 
trailing  from  the  summit  of  the  palm,  offered,  as  it  were,  a  natural  Uuldc-i 
for  ascending  it.  Hunger  stimulated  him  to  the  attempt ;  and,  resting  hit 
gun  against  the  trunk  of  the  ceiba,  he  commenced  climbing  upwards.  With 
out  much  difficulty,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  top,  and  making  his  way 
among  the  huge  pinna  of  the  leaves — each  in  itself  a  leaf  of  many  feet  in 
length.  He  arrived  at  the  youngest  of  them  all — that  still  enfolded  in 
the  envelope  of  the  bud,  and  which  was  the  object  for  which  he  had 
climbed.  With  his  knife  he  separated  the  summit  leaf,  flung  the  mass  to 
the  earth,  and  then,  descending  to  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  made  his  sup- 
per upon  the  raw  but  sweet  and  succulent  shoots  of  the  mountain  cab- 
bage. Supper  over,  he  collected  a  quantity  of  the  strewn  fleece  of  the 
silk-cotton,  and  placing  it  between  two  of  the  great  buttress-like  root 
spurs  of  the  tree,  constructed  for  himself  a  couch,  on  which,  but  for  some 
hard  thoughts  within,  he  might  have  slept  as  softly  and  soundly  as  upon 
a  palliasse  of  white  goose  feathers  and  a  mattress  of  eider. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     TREE      FOUNTAIN. 

THAT  he  did  not  sleep  soundly  may  be  attributed  solely  to  his  anxieties 
about  the  morrow  :  for  the  night  was  mild  throughout,  and  the  composi- 
tion of  his  improvised  couch  kept  him  sufficiently  warm.  His  cares, 
however,  had  rendered  his  spirit  restless.  They  were  vivid  enough  to 
act  even  upon  his  dreams — which  several  times  during  the  night  awoko 
in'm,  and  again,  finally,  just  after  the  break  of  day. 

This  time,  on  opening  his  eyes,  he  perceived  that  the  glade  was  filled 
with  soft  blue  light ;  and  the  quivering  fronds  of  the  cabbage-palm — just 
visible  where  he  lay — had  caught  the  first  trembling  rays  of  the  sun. 
Only  there,  and  among  the  summit  branches  of  the  ceiba  far  o'ertopping 
the  spray  of  the  surrounding  forest,  was  the  sun  yet  risible.  Bverything 
else  was  tinted  with  the  blue  grey  of  the  morning  twilight.  Herbert 
could  sleep  no  longer  ;  and  rose  from  his  forest  lair,  intending  to  make  an 
immediate  departure  from  the  spot.  He  had  no  toilet  to  make — nothing 
to  do  further  than  brush  off  the  silken  floss  of  the  tree-cotton  that  ad- 
hered to  his  clothes,  shoulder  his  gun  and,  go.  He  felt  hungry,  even  more 
than  on  the  preceding  night ;  and,  although  the  raw  mountain-cabbage 
offered  no  very  tempting '  dejeuner,'  he  determined,  before  starting,  to  muiui 


92  tEE  TREE 

another  meal  upon  it — remembering,  and  very  wisely  acting  upon,  tht 
adage  of  a  "  bird  ILL  the  hand."  There  was  plenty  left  from  the  suppei 
ko  serve  him  for  breakfast ;  and,  once  more  making  a  vigorous  onslaught 
Dn  the  chou  de  palmute,  he  succeeded  in  appeasing  his  hunger.  But  an- 
other appetite,  far  more  unpleasant  to  endwe,  now  assailed  him.  In 
truth,  it  had  assailed  him  long  before,  but  had  been  gradually  growing 
tronger  ;  and  was  now  unendurable.  It  was  the  kindred  appetite,  thirst  j 
which  the  cabbage  of  the  palm,  instead  of  relieving,  had,  from  a  certain 

Iicridity  in  its  juice,  only  sharpened — till  the  pain  amounted  almost  to 
torture.  The  sufferer  would  have  struck  off  into  the  woods  in  search  of 
water.  He  had  seen  none  in  his  wanderings  ;  still  he  had  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  find  the  river.  He  would  have  started  at  once,  but  for  an 
idea  he  had  conceived  that  there  was  water  near  the  spot  where  he 
had  slept.  Where  ?  He  had  seen  neither  stream  nor  spring,  pond  nor 
river ;  and  yet  he  fancied  he  had  seen  water — in  fact  he  felt  sure  of  it  I 
In  a  very  singular  situation  he  had  seen  it — so  thought  he  at  the  time — 
aince  it  was  over  his  head  in  the  top  of  the  cotton  tree !  On  the  previ- 
ous evening,  while  up  on  the  crown  of  the  cabbage-palm,  he  had  glanced 
slantingly  across,  among  the  branches  of  the  cciba.  These,  as  with  all 
great  trees  in  the  tropical  forests,  were  loaded  with  parasites — vricsiat, 
long,  ragged-looking  cacti,  bromelias,  epiphytical  orchids,  and  the  like. 
Tttlandsias  too,  of  the  kind  known  as  "  wild  pines,"  sat  snugly  in  the 
forks,  or  on  the  upper  surfaces  of  the  great  limbs,  flourishing  as  luxu- 
riantly as  if  their  roots  rested  in  the  richest  soil.  Among  them  was  con- 
spicuous the  most  magnificent  of  the  genus,  the  noble  Tillandsia  lingu- 
lato,  with  its  spike  of  gorgeous  crimson  flowers  projecting  from  the 
midst  of  its  broad  sheathing  leaves.  It  was  in  the  convexities  of  these 
huge  leaves  that  Herbert  had  observed  something  which  did  not  belong 
to  the  plant — something  he  believed  to  be  water. 

It  would  cost  but  a  few  seconds'  time  to  confirm  or  refute  this  belief 
— a  climb  among  the  branches  of  the  ceiba.  Another  huge  parasite,  from 
the  same  root  as  the  former,  trended  tortuously  up  to  the  limbs  of  the 
silk  cotton-tree,  here  and  there  touching  and  twisting  around  them.  Its 
diagonal  direction  rendered  it  easy  of  ascent ;  and  Herbert,  impelled  by 
his  desire  to  drink,  commenced  climbing  it. 

Ere  long,  he  had  succeeded  in  reaching  a  main  fork  of  the  ceiba,  where 
.nestled  one  of  the  largest  of  thw  wild  pines.  He  had  not  been  deceived. 
I  In  the  convexity  formed  by  its  huge  ventricose  leaves  was  the  natural 
'reservoir  he  had  noticed — the  gatherings  of  dew  and  rain,  which  th» 
rays  of  the  sun  could  never  reach. 

At  his  approach,  the  green  hyla  sprang  out  from  this  aerial  pool ;  and 
leaping,  frog-like,  from  leaf  to  leaf — protected  from  falling  by  the  clammy 
sponge-disks  of  its  feet — soon  disappeared  amid  the  foliage.  It  was  this 
singular  creature  whose  voice  Herbert  had  heard  throughout  the  live- 
long night ;  and  which,  in  constant  chorus  with  othars  of  its  kind,  had 
recalled  to  his  memory  the  groaning  and  working  of  the  Sea  Nymph  in 
a  storm. 

The  presence  of  the  tree-toad,  in  thia  its  natural  haunt,  did  not  deter 
the  young  man  from  drinking.  Raging  thirst  has  no  scruples ;  and, 
bending  over  one  of  the  leaves  of  the  tiUandsia,  he  placed  his  lips  to  the 


THE  THEE  FOUNTAIN.  93 

Oool  water,  and  freely  quenched  it.  The  labour  of  scrambling  ii[>  the 
ttiana  had  taken  away  his  breath,  arid  to  some  extent  fatigued  him.  In- 
•tead,  therefore  of  descending  at  once — which  he  knew  would  cost  him 
effort  equal  to  that  of  the  ascent — he  determined  to  rest  for  a  few  min- 
utes upon  the  large  limb  of  the  ceiba  on  which  he  had  seated  himself. 

"  Well  1"  muttered  he,  in  satisfied  soliloquy,  "  if  the  people  of  this 
island  have  proved  inhospitable,  I  can't  say  the  same  of  its  trees.  Here 
we  two  of  them — three,  if  I  include  the  parasite — almost  the  first  I  have 
encountered.  They  have  yielded  me  the  three  necessaries  of  life — meat 
drink,  and  lodging — lodging,  too,  with  an  excellent  bed,  a  thing  not  so 
common  in  many  a  human  hostelry,  What  more  is  wanted  1  Undei 
•uch  a  sky  as  this,  who  need  care  to  have  walls  around,  or  a  roof  over 
him  2  Verily,  to  sleep  here,  sub  Jove,  is  rather  a  luxury  than  an  incon 
venieace  ?  And,  verily,"  continued  he,  "  were  it  not  that  I  should  feel 
rather  lonely,  and  that  man  is  designed  to  be  a  social  animal,  I  mighl 
pass  my  whole  life  in  these  great  woods,  without  work  or  care  of  any 
kind.  No  doubt  there  is  game  ;  and  I  was  told  at  home  there  were  no 
game  laws — so  I  might  poach  at  pleasure.  Ha !  game  ?  What  do  I  see  ? 
A  deer  ?  No  I  a  hog  ?  Yes,  hog  it  is  ;  but  such  a  singular  fellow — prick 
ears,  red  bristles,  long  legs,  and  tusks.  A  boar !  and  why  not  a  wild 
boar  ?" 

There  was  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be,  since  it  wot  one — a  wild 
boar  of  the  Jamaica  forest—a  true  descendant  of  the  Canarian  hog,  trans- 
ported thither  by  the  Spaniards. 

The  young  Englishman  never  having  seen  a  wild  boar  in  its  native 
haunts,  put  the  question  conjecturally  ;  but  a  moment's  observation  of 
the  animal  convinced  him  that  his  conjecture  was  correct.  The  short 
upright  ears,  the  long  head,  hams,  and  legs,  the  shaggy  neck  and  frontlet, 
the  foxy  red  colour,  the  quick  short  step  as  it  moved  onward — all  these 
points,  combined  with  a  certain  savage  air  which  Herbert  noticed  at  a 
glance,  satisfied  him  that  the  animal  under  his  eyes  was  dot  one  of  the 
domestic  breed,  but  a  genuine  wild  hog  of  the  woods.  The  grunt,  too, 
which  the  creature  uttered  as  it  moved  across  the  glade — short,  sharp, 
and  fierce — had  but  slight  resemblance  to  the  squeaking  sounds  of  the 
(arm-yard.  A  wild  boar  beyond  a  doubt ! 

On  perceiving  this  noble  head  of  game,  and  so  near  him,  Herbert's 
first  reflection  was  one  of  extreme  regret.  How  unlucky  that  he 'should 
be  up  in  the  tree,  with  his  gun  upon  the  ground  1  Had  the  piece  only 
beoa  in  his  hands,  he  could  have  shot  the  boar  from  where  he  sat,  and 
right  easily  too  :  for  the  creature  had  actually  come  to  a  stand  under  the 
ceiba,  and  so  fairly  under  him,  that  if  he  had  been  provided  with  a  stone, 
he  could  have  dropped  it  right  upon  its  back.  It  was  very  tantalising  ; 
but  the  young  man  saw  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  hold  of  his  gun 
without  giving  the  alarm.  To  attempt  descending  from  the  tree,  or  even 
to  make  a  movement  upon  the  branch,  would  be  sufficient  to  send  the 
boar  scampering  from  the  spot :  of  course  never  to  be  seen  more.  Con* 
scious  of  this,  Herbert  preferred  remaining  upon  his  perch — the  silent 
spectator  of  a  scene  of  wild  Nature,  to  which  chance  hid  §o  oddly  intro- 
duced him. 


94  THE   HOG-HUNTER. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE     HOG-HUNTER. 

THB  boar  had  stopped  over  the  '  debris'  of  Herbert's  breakfast — com* 
fragments  of  the  mountain  cabbage  which  th^voung  man  had  left  upon 
the  ground.  Switching  its  feathered  tail,  and  nctering  a  short  grunt,  ex- 
pressive of  satisfaction,  the  animal  proceeded  to  snap  up  the  scattered 

^pieces,  crunching  them  between  its  formidable  grinders.     All  of  a  sudden 

I  ihe  tranquil  tableau  became  transformed  into  a  scene  of  a  more  exciting 
nature.  As  Herbert  continued  to  gaze,  he  saw  the  boar  suddenly  make  a 

•'  start,  jerk  its  muzzle  high  in  the  air,  at  the  same  instant  uttering  a  pecu- 
liar cry.  It  was  a  cry  of  alarm,  mingled  with  angry  menace — as  testified 
by  the  bristles  upon  its  back,  which  had  suddenly  shot  up  into  an  erect 
spinous  mane. 

Herbert  looked  for  the  enemy.  None  was  in  sight — at  least  to  his  eyes. 
The  boar,  however,  had  either  seen  or  heard  something  :  for  he  was  evi- 
dently upon  the  strain  to  spring  off.  Just  then,  a  loud  report  reverberated 
through  the  glade,  a  bullet  hissed  through  the  air,  and  the  animal  with  a 
shrill  scream  turned  over  upon  its  back,  the  blood  spouting  from  a  wound 
in  its  thigh.  Herbert  saw  that  the  boar  was  not  killed,  but  only  crippled 
by  the  loss  of  a  leg.  In  an  instant  the  animal  was  on  his  feet  again,  and 
upon  the  other  three  might  have  easily  escaped  ;  but  rage  appeared  to 
hinder  it  from  attempting  flight  1  It  retreated  only  a  few  paces,  taking 
its  stand  between  two  of  the  buttresses  of  the  ceiba,— on  the  very  spot 
where  Herbert  had  passed  the  night.  There — protected  on  both  flank 
and  in  the  rear — and  uttering  fierce  grunts  of  defiance — it  stood  awaiting 
its  enemy. 

Herbert  looked  in  the  direction  whence  the  shot  came,  expecting  to  see 
the  individual  who  had  fired  it.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  an  instant 
after  the  hunter  appeared  rushing  across  the  glade  towards  the  disabled 
game.  Sword  in  hand  came  he,  and  without  any  gun !  Herbert  presum- 
ed that  the  empty  piece  must  have  been  left  behind  him.  The  young 
Englishman  was  struck  with  the  peculiar  appearance  of  the  Jamaica 
sportsman ;  but  he  had  little  time  for  observing  it,  before  the  latter  was 
directly  under  him.  In  a  dozen  quick  strides  the  hunter  had  crossed  the 
glade,  reached  the  roots  of  the  cotton  tree,  and  became  engaged  in  « 
deadly  struggle  with  the  wounded  boar. 

Notwithstanding  the  damage  done  to  it,  the  creature  was  still  a  formid- 

^  »ble  antagonist ;  and  it  required  all  the  address  of  the  hunter — habile 
though  he  appeared  to  be — to  avoid  contact  with  its  terrible  tusks.  Each 
alternatively  charged  upon  the  other — the  hunter  endeavouring  to  thrust 
the  quadruped  with  his  long  blade,  while  the  boar  in  his  turn  would  re- 
peatedly rush  towards  his  antagonist,  suddenly  rear  himself  upon  his  hind 
legs,  and  strike  upwards  with  his  armed  and  grinning  muzzle.  It  was 
one  of  the  fore-legs  of  the  animal  that  had  been  broken  by  the  shot ;  but 
the  wound,  although  greatly  disabling  it,  did  not  hinder  it  from  making  a 
protracted  and  desperate  defence.  The  spurs  of  the  cotton-tree  rising  on 
each  side  proved  its  best  protectors,  hindering  its  assailant  from  turning 
its  ftanka  and  piercing  it  in  the  side.  The  combat,  therefore,  was  fac^  *$ 


THE   BUNAWAT.  95 

face  ,*  and  the  Hade  of  the  hunter,  repeatedly  thrust  forward,  as  often 
glaLced  harmlessly  from  the  hard  skull,  or  glinted  with  a  metallic  ring 
against  the  tusks  of  the  boar.  For  several  minutes  did  this  singular  con 
test  continue — the  young  Englishman  all  the  while  watching  it  with  lively 
interest ;  but  without  giving  the  slightest  signs  of  his  being  a  spectator. 
Indeed,  the  scene  was  so  exciting,  and  had  come  under  his  eyes  so  unex 
pectedly,  that  he  was  for  a  time  held  speechless  by  sheer  surprise.  As 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  this,  he  would  have  made  his  presence 
known,  and  hurried  down  to  the  assistance  of  the  hunter ;  but  the  thought 
quickly  occurred  to  him  that  any  movement  on  his  part  might  distract 
the  attention  of  the  latter,  and  expose  him  to  danger  from  his  fierce  anta 
gonist.  His  sudden  descent  from  the  tree — which  would  have  brought 
dim  down  almost  on  the  shoulders  of  the  man — could  not  otherwise  than 
disconcert  the  latter,  and  perhaps  put  his  life  in  peril :  for,  had  the  hunter 
faltered  for  a  moment,  or  desisted  from  the  ^attack,  the  boar  would  un 
doubtedly  have  charged  after  him. 

Herbert,  himself  a  sportsman,  comprehended  all  this  with  a  quick  in- 
stinct; and,  with  a  prudent  resolve,  determined  to  keep  quiet  and  remain 
where  he  was.  At  that  instant  the  struggle  between  biped  and  quadru- 
ped was  brought  to  a  termination.  The  hunter — who  appeared  to  possess 
all  the  craft  of  his  calling — put  in  practise  a  ruse  that  enabled  him  to  give 
his  antagonist  the  cov/p  de  grace. 

It  was  a  feat,  however,  accompanied  by  no  slight  danger  ;  and  so  adroit- 
ly did  the  hunter  perform  it,  as  to  create  within  the  mind  of  his  English 
spectator  both  surprise  and  admiration.  Thus  was  the  feat  accomplished, 
In  charging  forward  upon  his  human  adversary,  the  boar  had  incautiously 
ventured  beyond  the  flanking  buttresses  of  the  tree.  In  fact,  the  hunter 
had  enticed  the  animal  outward — by  making  a  feint  of  retreating  from  the 
contest.  Just  then — and  before  the  brute  could  divine  his  intention — the 
hunter  rushed  forward,  and,  throwing  all  his  strength  into  the  effort, 
sprang  high  into  the  air.  Quite  clearing  the  quadruped,  he  alighted  in 
the  angle  formed  by  the  converging  spurs  of  the  tree  I 

The  boar  had  now  lost  his  position  of  defence ;  though  that  of  the 
hunter  for  the  moment  appeared  desperate.  He  had  calculated  his 
chances,  however  ;  for  before  the  enraged  animal — hindered  by  its  hang- 
ing  limb — could  face  round  to  assail  him, he  had  lunged  out  with  his  long 
blade,  and  buried  it  up  to  the  hilt  between  the  creature's  ribs.  With  a 
shrill  scream  the  boar  fell  prostrate  to  the  earth — the  red  stream  fromhi» 
side  spurting  over  and  spoiling  the  improvised  mattress  of  cotton-tret 
4ock,  upon  which  Herbert  had  passed  the  night 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THB    RUNAWAY. 

Ur  to  this  moment  the  young  Englishman  had  done  nothing,  either  by 
word  or  gesture,  to  make  known  his  presence.  Now,  however,  lie  waj 
about  to  descend,  and  congratulate  tbe  hunter  upon  a  feat  that  ha-4  ullod 


THE  RUNAWAY. 

him  with  admiration.  A  fancy  passing  through  his  mind  at  the  moment, 
determined  him  to  remain  where  he  was  a  little  longer  ;  and  in  obedienc* 
to  this  fancy,  he  sat  gazing  down  upon  the  successful  sportsman  at  th« 
bottom  of  the  tree. 

To  say  the  least,  the  appearance  presented  by  this  individual  was  pio» 
turesque — especially  so  to  the  eyes  of  an  Englishman  unacquainted  with 
West  Indian  costumes  ;  but,  in  addition  to  picturesqueness  of  attire,  there 
was  something  in  the  features  of  the  man  that  could  not  fail  to  make  a 
remarkable  impression  upon  the  beholder. 

The  impression  was  Decidedly  pleasing,  though  the  facejfchat  produced  *, 
it  was  not  that  of  a  white  man.     Neither  was  it  the  face  of  a  black  man  ;  I 
nor  yet  the  yellow  countenance  of  the  mulatto.    A  shade  lighter  than  the 
last,  but  still  not  so  light  as  the  skin  of  a  quadroon ;  but,  like  many 
quadroons,  there  was  a  dash  of  crimson  in  the  cheeks.     It  was  this 
colouring  of  the  cheeks,  perhaps,  combined  with  a  well-rounded,  spark- 
ling iris,  that  imparted  the  agreeable  expression. 

The  man  was  young.  Herbert  Vaughan  might  have  guessed  him  about 
his  own  age,  without  being  many  months  astray ;  and  in  point  of  size  and 
shape,  there  was  no  great  dissimilitude  between  them.  In  the  colour  of 
their  hair,  complexion,  and  features,  there  was  no  resemblance  whatever. 
While  the  face  of  the  young  Englishman  was  of  the  oval  type,  that  of 
the  West  Indian  hunter  was  rotund.  A  prominent,  well-cut  chin,  how- 
ever, hindered  it  from  degenerating  into  any  expression  of  feebleness  ;  on 
the  contrary,  firmness  was  the  prevailing  cast  of  the  features  ;  and  the 
bold,  swelling  throat  was  a  true  physical  index  of  daring.  His  complex- 
ion has  been  told.  It  only  remains  to  say  that  it  betokened  a  '  sang- 
melee'  between  African  and  Caucasian,  which  was  further  confirmed  by  the 
slight  crisping  that  appeared  among  the  jet  black  curls  of  hair  thickly 
covering  his  head.  The  luxuriance -of  these  curls  was  partly  kept  in 
check  by  a  head-dress,  that  Herbert  Vaughan  would  have  been  less  sur- 
prised to  see  in  some  country  of  the  East :  for,  at  the  first  glance,  he  had 
mistaken  it  for  a  turban.  On  closer  examination,  however,  it  proved  to 
be  a  brilliant  kerchief — the  Madras  check — ingeniously  folded  around  the 
forehead,  so  as  to  sit  coquettishly  over  the  crown,  with  the  knot  a  little 
to  one  side.  It  was  a  toque — not  a  turban. 

The  other  articles  of  dress  worn  by  the  young  hunter  were  an  outer 
to*t,  or  shirt,  of  sky-blue  cottonade,  cut  somewhat-blouse  fashion  ;  an  un- 
dershirt of  fine  white  linen,  ruffled  and  open  at  the  breast ;  trowsers  of 
the  same  material  as  the  coat ;  and  buff-coloured  boots  of  roughly-cleaned  i 
cowskin.    There  were  straps  and  strings  over  both  shoulders,  all  crossing  ' 
each  other  on  the  breast. 

From  the  two  that  hung  to  the  right  side  were  suspended  a  powder- 
horn,  and  skin  shot-pouch.  On  the  same  side  hung  a  large  calabash  can- 
teen, covered  with  a  strong  network  of  some  forest  withe,  to  protect  it 
from  injury.  Under  the  left  arm  was  a  carved  arid  curving  cow's  horn, 
evidently  not  for  holding  powder,  since  it  was  open  at  both  ends.  Below 
this,  against  his  hip,  rested  a  black  leathern  sheath — the  receptacle  of 
that  long  blade  still  reeking  with  tho  blood  of  the  boar. 
»  This  weapon  was  the  machete — half  sword,  half  hunting-knife — which 
with  its  straight,  short  blade,  and  haft-like  hilt  of  grey  horn,  it  in  to  bf 


THE   BUN  AWAY.  97 

found  in  every  cottage  of  Spanish  America,  from  California  to  the  "  Land 
of  Fire."  Even  where  the  Spaniards  have  been,  but  are  no  longer — as  in 
Jamaica — the  universal  machete  may  be  seen  in  the  hands  of  hunter  and 
peasant — a  relic  of  the  conqueror  colonists. 

*  *  ***  «  *  * 

Up  to  the  moment  that  the  boar  was  laid  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  h« 
in  the  toque  had  been  kept  too  well  employed  with  his  fierce  game  to  find 
time  for  looking  at  anything  else.  It  was  only  after  dealing  the  death 
blow  to  his  adversary  that  he  was  able  to  stand  erect,  and  take  a  survey 
around  him. 

In  an  instant  his  eye  fell  upon  the  gun  of  the  young  Englishman,  and 
then  the  white  pieces  of  palm-cabbage  upon  which  the  boar  had  been 
browsing. 

"  Hoh  I"  exclaimed  he,  still  gasping  for  breath,  but  with  a  look  that  be- 
trayed surprise  ;  "  a  gun  I  Whose  ?  Some  runaway  slave  who  has  stolen 
his  master's  fowling  piece  ?  Nothing  more  likely.  But  why  has  he  left 
the  piece  behind  him  ?  And  what  has  started  him  away  from  here  ? 
Surely  not  the  boar  ?  He  must  have  been  gone  before  the  animal  got; 
up  ?  Crambo  1  a  richer  prize  than  the  pig,  if  I  could  only  have  set  eyes 
upon  him  1  I  wonder  in  which  direction  he  has  tracked  off.  Hish  !  what 
do  I  see  ?  The  runaway  1  yes — yes,  it  is  he  1  He  is  coming  back  for  his 
gun  ?  Crambo  ?  This  is  unexpected  luck,  so  early  i'  the  morning — a 
slave  capture — a  bounty  • 

As  the  hunter  hurriedly  muttered  these  concluding  phrases,  he  glided 
with  stealthy  tread  between  the  two  buttresses ;  and  having  placed  him- 
self in  the  extreme  angle  of  their  convergence,  remained  perfectly  still — 
as  if  waiting  the  approach  of  some  one  who  was  advancing  towards  the 
tree. 

Herbert,  from  his  perch,  looked  for  the  new  comer  thus  announced,  and 
saw  him  with  surprise — surprise,  not  at  his  appearance,  which  was  ex- 
pected, but  at  the  attitude  in  which  he  was  advancing,  and  the  wild 
aspect  of  the  individual. 

A  young  man  of  a  copper  red  colour,  with  straight  black  hair,  shaggily 
tossed  and  drawn  over  his  brows,  as  if  some  one  had  been  tearing  it  from 
his  head !  His  face,  too — a  fine  one,  notwithstanding  its  mahogany  colour 
— appeared  freshly  lacerated  ;  and  his  whole  body  also  bore  the  marks  of 
nhuman  abuse!  The  coarse  cotton  shirt  that  covered  his  shoul- 
ders was  blotched  with  blood ;  and  long,  crimson-coloured  stripes  run- 
ning across  his  back,  looked  like  the  imprints  of  an  ensanguined  lash.  The 
shirt  was  his  only  clothing — every  rag  he  wore.  Head,  throat,  legs  and. 
feet  were  all  uncovered.  The  attitude  in  which  he  was  advuLciug  was 
as  peculiar  as  his  costume.  When  Herbert  first  set  eyes  on  him  ho  was 
crawling  upon  his  hands  and  kuees,  yet  going  with  considerable  speed. 
This  led  to  the  belief  that  his  crawling  position  was  assumed  rather  with 
a  view  towards  concealment,  than  from  the  inability  to  walk  erect.  This 
belief  was  soon  after  confirmed,  for  on  entering  the,glade  the  young  man  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  trotted  on — but  still  with  body  bent — towards  the  ceiba. 
What  could  he  want  there  ?  Was  he  making  for  the  huge  tree  as  a  haven 
of  safety  from  some  deadly  pursuers  ?  Herbert  fancied  so. 

The  hunter  believed  he  was  coming  back  for  his  gun — having  no  suf 
piuion  that  the  real  owner  of  the  piece  was  just  over  his  toad* 

*-  ~  --.~+~      ,--•***         *  '  •«*       L     „  UM|i»->g»—     -  ^.^ 


$8  THE   RUNAWAY 

Both  remained  silent ;  though  from  motives  that  had  no  similitude  to 
each  other. 

In  a  few  seconds'  time,  the  fugitive — for  his  actions  proved  him  on*  - 
had  reached  tho  bottom  of  the  tree. 

"  Halt!"  cried  the  hunter,  showing  himself  round  the  buttress,  and  step- 
ping in  front  of  the  new  comer.  "  A  runaway,  and  my  prisoner  !"  The 
fugitive  dropped  upon  his  knees,  crossed  his  arms  Dver  his  breast,  and 
uttered  some  phrases  in  an  unknown  tongue — amongst  which  Herbert 
11  could  distinguish  the  word  "Allah."  His  captor  appeared  equally  at  fault 
HJ  about  the  meaning  of  the  words  ;  but  the  attitude  of  the  speaker,  and 
J  the  expression  upon  his  countenance,  could  not  be  mistaken  :  it  was  an 
appeal  for  mercy. 

"  Crambo  /"  exclaimed  the  hunter,  bending  forward,  and  gazing  for  a 
•noment  at  the  breast  of  the  runaway — on  which  the  letters  "  J.  J."  were 
conspicuously  branded — "  with  that  tattoo  on  your  skin,  I  don't  wonder 
you've  given  leg-bail  to  your  master.  Poor  devil!  they've  tattooed  you 
atill  more  brutally  upon  the  back." 

As  he  said  this — speaking  rather  to  himself  than  to  the  creature  that 
knelt  before  him — the  hunter  stretched  forth  his  hand,  raised  the  shirt 
from  the  shoulders  of  the  runaway,  and  gazed  for  a  while  upon  his  back. 
The  skin  was  covered  with  purple  wales,  crossing  each  othsr  like  the  arte- 
ries in  an  anatomic  plate  ! 

"  God  of  the  Christian  I"  exclaimed  the  yellow  hunter,  with  evident  in- 
dignation at  the  sight,  "if  this  be  your  decree,  then  give  me  tho  fetish 
of  my  African  ancestors.  "  But  no,"  added  he,  after  a  pause,  "  J.  J.  is  not 
a  Christian — he  cares  for  no  God." 

The  soliloquy  of  the  hunter  was  here  interrupted  by  a  second  speech 
from  the  suppliant,  spoken  in  the  same  unknown  tongue 

This  time  the  gesture  signified  that  it  was  an  appeal  for  protection 
against  some  enemy  in  the  rear  :  for  the  pitying  looks  of  his  captor  had 
evidently  won  the  confidence  of  the  fugitive. 

"  They  are  after  you — no  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  hunter.  "  Well,  let 
them  come — whoever  are  your  pursuers.  This  time  they  have  lost  their 
chance  ;  and  the  bounty  is  mine,  not  theirs.  Poor  devil !  it  goes  against 
my  g-rain  to  deliver  you  up  ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  law  tha ;  binds  me, 
I  should  scorn  their  paltry  reward.  Hark  !  yonder  they  come  Dogs,  as 
I'm  a  man  1  Listen !  the  bay  of  a  bloodhound !  Ha-a-a !  Those  villanoui 
man-hunters  of  Batabano  i  I  knew  old  Jessuron  had  them  in  his  pay. 
Here,  my  poor  fellow,  iii  ncre !"  and  the  hunter  half-led,  half-dragged  the 
fugitive  over  the  carcass  of  the  wild  boar,  placing  him  between  the  but- 
tresses of  the  cebia.  "  Stand  close  in  to  the  angle,"  he  continued.  "Leave 
me  to  guard  the  front.  Here's  your  gun :  I  see  it  is  Imded.  I  hope  you 
know  how  to  use  it  ?  Don't  fire  till  you're  sure  of  hitting :  we'll  need 
both  blade  and  shot  to  save  ourselves  from  these  Spanish  dogs,  who  will 
make  no  distinction  between  you  and  mo  Not  they  Cravibo  I  there 
they  come  I" 

The  words  had  scarce  issued  from  the  speaker's  lips,  when  two  larg^ 
dogs  broke,  with  a  swishing  noise,  out  of  tho  bushes  on  the  opposite 
«de  of  the  glad* — evidently  running  on  the  trail  of  the  fugitive. 

The  crimson  colour  of  their  uju/.z!^.?  showed  that  they  had  been  belied 


A   COMBAT   DECLINED.  99 

with  blood — which,  darkening  as  it  dried,  rendered  more  conspicuous  tbe 
white  fang-like  teeth  within  their  jaws. 

They  were  half  hound,  half  mastiff ;  but  ran  as  true-bred  hounds  on  a 
fresh  trail.  No  trail  could  have  been  fresher  than  that  of  the  flogged 
fugitive  ;  and,  in  a  few  seconds  after  entering  the  glade,  the  hounds  were 
up  to  the  ceiba,  in  front  of  the  triangular  chamber  in  which  stood  the 
runaway  and  his  protector. 

These  dogs  have  no  instinct  of  self-preservation — only  an  instinct  to 
discover  and  destroy.  Without  stopping  to  bark  or  bay — without  even 
slackening  their  pace — both  dashed  onward,  bounding  into  the  air  as 
they  launched  themselves  upon  the  supposed  objects  of  their  pursuit. 

The  first  only  impaled  himself  upon  the  outstretched  machete  of  the 
yellow  hunter  ;  and  as  the  animal  came  down  to  the  earth,  it  was  to  ut- 
ter the  last  howl  of  his  existence. 

The  other,  springing  towards  the  naked  fugitive,  received  the  contents 
of  the  fowling-piece  ;  and,  although  the  gun  was  loaded  only  with  small 
bird-shot,  at  such  close  quarters  it  proved  equal  to  a  bullet ;  and  the 
second  dog  sank  lifeless  by  the  side  of  his  comrade. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  COMBAT   DECLINED. 

THE  spectator  in  the  tree  began  to  fancy  that  he  was  dreaming.  Within 
the  short  space  of  twenty  minutes  he  had  been  the  witness  of  a  greater 
number  of  exciting  events,  than  he  might  have  seen,  in  his  own  country 
during  the  same  number  of  years !  And  yet  he  had  not  witnessed  the 
finale  of  the  drama.  The  gestures  of  the  runaway,  and  the  speeches  of 
nis  captor,  had  already  warned  him  that  there  was  another  act  to  come ; 
and,  from  the  attitudes  of  both,  it  was  evident  that  that  act  would  be 
performed  on  the  same  stage,  without  any  change  of  scene. 

As  yet  the  young  Englishman  saw  no  particular  reason  why  he  should 
cease  to  be  a  spectator,  and  become  an  actor,  in  this  West  Indian  drama. 
That  the  yellow  hunter  should  kill  a  wild  boar,  capture  a  runaway  slave, 
and  afterwards  shield  both  his  captive  and  himself  from  a  brace  of  blood- 
hounds, by  killing  the  fierce  brutes,  was  no  affair  of  his.  The  only 
thing  that  concerned  him  was  the  unceremonious  use  that  had  been  made 
of  his  fowling-piece  ;  but  it  is  scarce  necessary  to  say,  that  the  young 
Englishman,  had  he  been  asked,  would  have  freely  lent  the  piece  for  such 
»  purpose. 

Nothing,  however,  had  yet  transpired  to  tempt  him  from  a  strict  neu- 
trality ;  and,  until  something  should,  he  determined  to  preserve  the  pas- 
sive attitude  he  had  hitherto  held. 

Scarce  had  he  come  to  this  determination,  when  the  new  actors  ap- 
peared upon  the  scer.e.  They  were  evidently  expected  both  l>y  the 
fugitive  and  his  protector,  both  of  whom,  after  the  defeat  of  the  dogs 
stood  looking  towards  the  thicket  w^err^,  the  animals  had  issued. 

Of  the  new  comers  there  were  three,    One,  the  foremost,  aud  appar- 


JOO  *•   COMBAT  DECLINED. 

ently  the  leader,  was  a  tall,  black-bearded  man  in  a  red  plush  waistcoat, 
and  high-topped  horseskin  boots.  The  other  two  were  lean,  lithe-looking 
fellows  in  striped  shirts  and  trowsers,  each  wearing  a  broad-brimmed 
palm-leaf  hat  that  shadowed  a  sharp  Spanish  physiognomy. 

The  bearded  man  was  armed  with  gun  and  pistols.  The  others  ap« 
poared  to  be  without  firearms  of  any  kind  ;  but  each  carried  in  his  hand 
a  long  rapier-like  blade,  the  sheath  of  which  hung  dangling  from  his  hip. 
It  was  the  machett — the  same  kind  of  weapon  as  that  which  the  yellow 
hunter  had  but  the  moment  before  so  skilfully  wielded. 

On  perceiving  the  tableau  under  the  tree,  the  three  new  comers  halted 
—and  with  no  slight  surprise  depicted  in  their  looks.  The  men  of  Span- 
ish face  appeared  more  especially  astonished — indignation  mingling  with 
their  surprise — when  they  beheld  in  that  grouping  of  figures  the  bodies 
of  their  own  blood-hounds  stretched  dead  upon  the  sward  1 

The  bearded  man,  who,  as  we  have  said,  appeared  to  be  the  leade^ 
was  the  first  to  give  speech  to  the  sentiment  that  animated  all  three. 

"  What  game's  this  ?"  he  cried,  his  face  turning  purple  with  rage. 
"Who  are  you  that  has  dared  to  interfere  with  our  pursuit?" 

"  Carajo  !  who's  killed  our  dogs  ?"  vociferated  one  of  the  Spaniards. 

"  Demonios  !  you'll  pay  for  this  with  your  lives !"  cried  the  other,  rais- 
ing his  machete  in  menace. 

"  And  what  if  I  have  killed  your  dogs  ?"  rejoined  the  yellow  hunter,  with 
an  air  of  sang  froid,  which  won  the  silent  applause  of  the  spectatoi 
«  What  if  I  have ?  If  I  had  not  killed  them,  they  would  have  killed  me* 

"  No,"  said  one  of  the  Spaniards ;  "  they  would  not  have  touched  you. 
Carramba  I  they  were  too  well  trained  for  that — they  were  after  him. 
Why  did  you  put  yourself  in  the  way  to  protect  kirn  ?  It's  no  business 
of  yours." 

"  There,  my  worthy  friend,  you  are  mistaken,"  replied  he  in  the  toque, 
with  a  significant  sneer.  "  It  is  my  business  to  protect  him — my  interest 
too  :  since  he  is  my  captive." 

"  Your  captive  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men  with  a  glance  of  concern. 

"  Certainly,  he  is  my  captive  ;  and  it  was  my  interest  not  to  let  the 
dogs  destroy  him.  Dead,  I  should  have  got  only  two  pounds  currency 
for  his  head.  Living  he  is  worth  twice  that,  and  mileage  money  to  boot; 
though  I'm  sorry  to  see  by  the  *  J.  J.'  on  his  breast  that  the  mileage 
money  won't  amount  to  much.  Now  what  more  have  you  to  say,  my 
good  gentlemen  ?" 

"  Only  this,"  cried  the  man  with  the  black  beard,  "  that  we  listen  to  no 
such  nonsense  as  that  there.  Whoever  you  may  be,  I  don't  care.  I  sus- 
pect who  you  are  ;  but  that  don't  hinder  me  from  telling  you,  you've  no 
business  to  meddle  in  this  affair.  This  runaway  slave  belongs  to  Jacob 
Jessuron.  I'm  his  overseer.  He's  been  taken  on  Jessuron's  own 
ground  :  for  this  is  on  it.  You  can't  claim  the  captive,  nor  yet  the 
bounty.  So  you'll  have  to  give  him  up  to  us" 

"  Carrambo,  si !"  vociferated  both  the  Spaniards  in  a  breath,  at  th« 
same  time  that  the  three  advanced  towards  the  runaway — the  bearded 
overseer  pistol  in  hand,  and  his  two  comrades  with  their  machetes  drawn, 
*nd  ready  to  be  used.  « 

pa,  then !"  cried  &«-  ljunter,  in  a  tauntmg  tone— as  he  spokt 


A  COMBAT   DEC&INED,  ,  >,  >       101 

tiaking  signs  to  the  runaway,  whose  gun  he  had  re-ioiJod,  to  stand  to 
his  defence.  ,  ;\ 

"Come  on!  but,  remember!  the  first  thac  layb  haud  upon  him  or  me  is 
a  dead  man.  There  are  three  of  you,  and  we  are  but  two — one  already 
half  dead  with  your  inhuman  cruelty." 

"  Three  against  two  !  that's  not  a  fair  fight !"  cried  the  young  English 
man,  dropping  down  from  the  tree,  and  ranging  himself  on  the  weaker 
«ide.  "  Perhaps  it'll  be  a  better  match  now,"  added  he,  taking  a  pistol 

*  from  under  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  cocking  it  as  he  did  so — evidently 
with  the  intention  of  using  it  on  the  person  of  the  overseer,  should  the 
latter  attempt  to  proceed  with  the  affray. 

This  addition,  to  the  number  of  the  combatants,  equally  unexpected  by 
both  parties,  in  both  created  surprise.  But,  when  it  was  seen  on  which 
bide  the  new  comer  had  placed  himself,  other  emotions  took  the  place  of 
surprise — one  party  regarding  him  with  looks  of  joyful  gratitude,  while 
the  other  viewed  him  with  feelings  of  dire  hostility. 

His  advent  having  nearly  equalised  the  strength  of  the  adverse  parties, 
as  it  had  their  numbers,  produced,  as  is  not  unusual  in  such  cases,  a 
withdrawal  from  the  battle — the  bearded  overseer,  and  his  two  swarthy 
coadjutors,  at  once  dropping  down  from  their  attitude  of  menace  to  one 
of  parley. 

"  And  who  are  you,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  first,  with  as  much  arrogance 
as  he  could  throw  into  his  manner.  "  Who,  sir,  may  I  inquire,  is  the 
white  man  who  thus  places  himself  in  opposition  to  the  laws  of  the 
island  ?  You  know  the  penalty,  sir  ;  and  by  my  word,  you  shall  pay  it  1" 

"  If  I  have  committed  a  breach  of  the  laws,"  replied  Herbert,  "  I  pre- 
sume I  shall  have  to  answer  for  it.  But  I  have  yet  to  learn  what  law  I 
have  broken  ;  and  I  don't  choose  that  you  shall  be  my  judge." 

"  You  are  aiding  in  the  escape  of  a  slave !" 

"  That's  not  true,"  interruped  the  yellow  hunter.  "The  slave  is  already 
captured  ;  he  could  not  have  escaped  ;  and  this  young  gentleman,  who  is 
as  much  a  stranger  to  me  as  to  you,  I  am  sure,  had  no  intention  of  assist- 
ing him  to  escape." 

'•  Bah  !"  exclaimed  the  overseer  ;  "  we  care  not  for  your  talk — we  deny 

your  right  to  capture  him ;  and  you  had  no  business  to  interfere.     We 

had  already  tracked  him  down  with  the  dogs  •  and  should  have  had  lim 

.  without  any  help  fro/n  you.    He  is  our  prize,  therefore ;  and  I  again  de» 

*  aiand  of  you  to  give  him  up." 

"  Indeed  I"  sneeringly  responded  the  yellow  hunter. 

"  I  moke  the  demand,"  continued  the  other,  without  noticing  the  sneer, 
u  in  the  name  of  Jacob  Jessuron — whose  overseer  I've  told  you  I  am." 

44  Perhaps,  were  you  Jacob  Jessuron  himself,  I  might  resist  it/'  rejoined 
the  hunter,  coolly,  and  without  any  appearance  of  braggadrcio. 

"  You  refuse  to  surrender  him,  then  ?"  said  the  overseer,  as  if  making 
bis  final  demand. 

"  I  do,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

"  Enough — you  shall  repent  this  ;  and  you,  sir,"  continued  the  deputy 
of  Jessuron,  turning  a  fierce  look  upon  Herbert,  "  you  shall  answer  before 
*  magistrate  for  the  part  it  has  pleased  you  to  play  in  this  transaction. 
A  pretty  white  man  you  for  the  island  of  Jamaica  J  A  few  more  of  yom 


102  t&E    MAEOOH8. 

tort,  and  we'd  have  a  nice  time,  with  our  niggers.     Don't  fear,  mist/or 
you']  ^so,e  me  ;agajin/:  ...      ,    , 

"  1  havb'u'o  particular-  desire,"  rejoined  Herbert ;  "  for  certainly,"  con- 
tinued he,  with  a  provoking  jocularity,  "  an  uglier  looking  face  than 
yours  I  have  never  set  eyes  upon  ;  and  it  could  be  no  pleasure  to  rue  to 
look  upon  it  again." 

"  Confusion  1"  cried  the  overseer.  "  You'll  repent  that  insult  before 
you're  a  month  older — curse  me  if  you  don't  1 ' 

And  with  the  dreadful  menace  the  ruffian  tuined  and  walked  sullenly 
•way. 

"  Cospita!"  cried  one  of  the  Spaniards,  as  the  two  hastened  to  follow 
their  leader.  "  My  brave  dogs  1  Ah,  demonio  !  you  shall  pay  dearly  for 
them.  Two  hundred  pesos  each — not  a  cuartito  less  1" 

'  Not  a  cuartito  for  either !"  responded  the  yellow  hunter,  with  a  mock 
ing  laugh.  "  Haven't  I  proved  that  they  are  not  worth  it  ?  With  all 
your  boasting  of  what  your  bloodhounds  could  do,  look  at  them  now, 
Vaya  !  my  fine  fellows !  Go  back  to  your  own  country,  and  hunt  runaway 
negroes  there.  Here  you  must  leave  that  game  to  those  that  know  how 
to  manage  it — the  Maroons  /" 

Herbert  observed  that  the  hunter,  on  pronouncing  this  last  word,  drew 
himself  up  with  an  air  of  majestic  pride  as  he  did  so,  glancing  scornfully 
at  the  '  cacjadores.' 

An  angry  "  Carrai.'"  simultaneously  hissed  from  the  lips  of  both,  was 
the  only  reply  made  by  the  two  Spaniards  ;  who,  at  the  same  instant, 
turned  their  backs  upon  the  ceiba,  and  followed  their  leader  across  the 
glade. 

In  a  few  moments  the  three  had  entered  the  underwood ,  and  became 
lost  to  the  view  of  those  who  remained  by  the  tree — the  young  English- 
man, the  yellow  hunter,  and  the  red  runaway. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE   MAROONS. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the  hunter  turned  towards  Herbert,  hi« 
•yes  sparkling  with  gratitude.  , 

"  Master  1"  said  he,  making  a  low  obeisance  as  he  spoke,  "  after,  triat.J 
Trords  are  but  a  poor  way  of  offering  thanks.  If  the  brave  white  gentle- 
man, who  has  risked  his  life  for  a  coloured  outcast,  will  let  me  know  his 
name,  it  will  not  be  forgotten  by  Cubina,  the  Maroon." 

"  Cubina,  the  Maroon  1" 

Struck  by  the  oddness  of  the  name  and  title — as  he  had  already  been 
by  the  appearance  and  behaviour  of  him  who  bore  them — Herbert  re- 
peated the  phrase  mechanically,  rather  than  otherwise, 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name,  master." 

The  young  Englishman,  though  not  yet  enlightened  as  to  the  odd  »JK 
pellation,  was  too  well  bred  to  press  for  an  explanation. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  "  for  not  directly  replying  to  your  request.  I  aa 
»n  Englishman  ;  my  name  Vaughan — Herbert  Vaughan.'' 


THE  MAfcOONS.  103 

u  By  that  name,  master,  I  take  it  you  have  relatives  in  the  island.  The 
awner  of  Mount  Welcome  estate " 

"  Is  my  uncle." 

"  Ah !  then,  air,  anything  a  poor  Maroon  hunter  could  do  for  you  would 
iiot  bo  much.  All  the  same,  you  have  my  thanks  ;  and  if ;  but,  mas- 
ter," continued  the  speaker,  suddenly  changing  hi«  tone,  as  if  in  ebeaienca 
to  some  instinct  of  curiosity,  "  may  I  make  bold  to  ask  why  you  are  afoot 
BO  early  ?  The  sun  is  not  yet  ten  minutes  above  the  trees,  and  Mount 
"Welcome  is  three  miles  distant.  You  must  have  tracked  it  here  in  the 
dark — no  easy  matter,  through  these  tangled  woods  ?" 

"  I  passed  the  night  here,"  replied  the  Englishman,  smiling  ;  "  that  was 
my  bed,  where  the  boar  is  now  sleeping." 

"  Then  the  gun  is  yours,  not  his  ?" 

The  hunter  nodded  interrogatively  towards  the  runaway,  who  standing 
some  paces  off,  was  regarding  both  the  speakers  with  glances  of  grati- 
tude, riot,  however,  umningled  with  some  signs  of  uneasiness. 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  gun.  I  am  very  glad  the  piece  was  not  empty  :  since  it 
enabled  him  to  destroy  the  fierce  brute,  that  would  otherwise  have  had 
him  by  the  throat.  Wretched  as  the  poor  fellow  appears,  he  handled  his 
weapon  well.  What  is  he,  and  what  have  they  been  doing  to  him  ?" 

"  Ah,  Master  Vaughan  !  By  those  two  questions,  it  is  easy  to  tell  you 
are  a  stranger  to  the  island.  I  think  I  can  answer  both — though  I  never 
saw  the  young  man  before.  Poor  wretch !  The  answers  are  written  out 
upon  his  skin,  in  letters  that  don't  require  much  scholarship  to  read. 
Those  upon  his  breast  tell  that  he's  a  slave — the  slave  of  J.  J. :  Jacob  Jea- 
suron.  You'll  excuse  me  from  giving  my  opinion  of  him:  since  he's  a 
magistrate  of  the  parish,  and  a  friend  of  your  uncle  the  custos." 

"  What  have  they  done  to  you,  my  poor  fellow  ?"  asked  Herbert  of  the 
runaway  —  his  compassion  hindering  him  from  waiting  for  the  more 
roundabout  explanation  of  the  Maroon. 

The  blood-bedaubed  creature,  perceiving  that  the  speech  was  ad- 
dressed to  him,  made  a  long  rejoinder  ;  but  in  a  tongue  unknown  both  to 
the  hunter  and  Herbert.  The  latter  could  distinguish  two  words  that  he 
had  never  heard  before — "  Foolah  "  and  "  Allah  " — both  of  which  occur- 
red repeatedly  in  the  speech. 

"  It's  no  use  asking  him,  Master  Vaughan.  Like  yourself,  he's  a  stran- 
ger to  the  island  ;  though,  as  you  see,  they've  already  initiated  him  into 
some  of  its  ways.  Those  brands  upon  his  breast  are  nearly  fresh — aa 
one  may  tell  by  the  inflamed  skin  around  the  letters.  He's  just  landed 
from  Africa,  it  appears.  As  for  the  marks  upon  his  back — those  have 
teeen  made  by  a  plaything  the  white  planters  and  their  overseers  in  these 
parte  are  rather  too  fond  of  using — the  cartwhip  1  They've  been  flog- 
ging the  poor  devil,  and,  Crambo !  they've  given  it  to  him  thick  and 
sharp." 

As  the  Maroon  made  this  remark,  he  raised  the  blood-stained  shirt,  ex- 
posing to  view  that  back  so  terrible  reticulated.  The  sight  was  sicken- 
ing. Herbert  could  not  bear  to  gaze  upon  ii ;  but  averted  hia  eyes  on 
the  instant.  I 

"  Fresh  from  Africa,  you  say  ?     He  has  not  negro  features."  1 

"  As  to  his  features  that  don't  siguifv.    There  are  many  African 


104  THE    MAEOONS. 

who  are  not  negro-featured.  I  can  tell  from  this  that  fie  is  a  Foolah.  ] 
hear  him  use  the  word  when  he  talks." 

«  Yoy — Foolah  I  Foolah  1"  cried  the  wretched  young  man,  on  hearing 
pronounced  the  name  of  his  people  ;  and  then  he  continued  in  a  strain 
of  the  same  tongue,  accompanied  by  much  gesticulation. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  his  language,"  said  the  hunter.  "  I  know  he's  a 
Foolah.  It  is  some  reason  why  I  should  take  an  interest  in  him  ;  and 
maybe  if  only  for  that  I  might " 

The  speaker  paused,  as  if  he  had  been  talking  to  himself ;  and  then 
continued  the  soliloquy  only  in  thought.  After  a  pause  he  resumed 
•peech. 

"  Crambo  I  little  would  tempt  me  not  to  restore  him  to  his  master." 

•4  And  must  you  ?" 

"  I  must.  We  Maroons  are  bound  by  a  treaty  to  deliver  up  all  run- 
aways we  may  take  ;  and  if  we  fail  to  do  so — that  is,  when  it  is  knowng 
but  these  villains  of  old  Jessuron  know  I  have  him " 

"  You  will  receive  a  bounty,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes.  They  will  try  to  deprive  me  of  that ;  but  it  isn't  the  bounty 
would  tempt  me  in  this  case.  There  is  something  about  this  young 
fellow  '  My  word !  he  is  like  her  I — ay,  as  if  he  were  her  brother  1" 

The  last  speech  was  involuntary,  and  delivered  as  if  in  soliloquy. 

"  Like  her  !    Like  whom  ?"  demanded  Herbert,  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Your  pardon,"  replied  the  hunter.  "  I  was  struck  with  a  resemblance 
between  this  poor  fellow  and  one  whom  I  know : — —but,  Master 
Vaughan,"  he  continued,  as  if  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  "  you  have 
not  said  how  you  came  to  be  all  night  in  the  woods  ?  You  were  hunt- 
ing yesterday,  and  lost  your  way  ?" 

'  True,  I  lost  my  way  ;  but  not  exactly  while  hunting." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  all  the  sort  of  breakfast  you  have  had  ?"  and  the 
Maroon  pointed  to  some  pieces  of  the  cabbage  that  still  lay  on  the  turf. 

"  I  have  both  supped  and  breakfasted  upon  the  palm.  I  had  climbed 
the  tree  for  water,  when  the  boar  came  up  to  break  his  fast  upon  what 
remained  of  it." 

The  Maroon  smiled  at  this  explanation  of  some  circumstances  by 
which  even  he  had  been  mystified. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  if  you  are  not  anxious  to  return  at  once  to  Mount 
Welcome,  and  will  give  me  five  minutes'  time,  I  think  I  can  provide  you 
something  better  than  raw  cabbage." 

"I  am  not  particularly  in  a  hurry  about  getting  back  to  Mo  ant 
Welcome.  Perhaps 1  may  never  go  back!" 

These  words,  combined  with  the  manner  of  the  young  Englishman  a* 
he  uttered  them,  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  intelligent  Maroon. 

"  Something  strange  in  this  young  man's  history,"  said  he  to  himself, 
though  he  had  the  delicacy  not  to  demand  an  explanation  of  the  ambig- 
uous speech  just  made.  "  Well,  it's  not  my  afiair,  I  suppose  I" 

Then,  addressing  himself  to  Herbert,  he  said  aloud — 

"  Do  you  agree,  Master  Vaughan,  to  eat  a  forest  breakfast  of  my  provid- 
ing?" 

"  Indeed,  with  pleasure,"  answered  Herbert.  ^ 

"  Then  I  must  ring  for  my  servants." 


A  tfOKEStf    BBEARFA8T. 

AJ  he  said  this,  the  hunter  raised  the  curved  horn  that  was  suspended 
undw  his  left  arm ;  and,  placing  the  small  enl  to  his  lips,  blew  a  long, 
tremulous  blast. 

It  had  scarce  ceased  reverberating  through  the  woods,  when  similar 
calls — to  the  number  of  a  dozen  or  more — were  heard  ringing  in  reply  1 
So  like  were  they  to  that  given  by  the  yellow  hunter,  and  to  one  another 
that  for  a  moment  Herbert  believed  them  to  be  echoes  ! 

J;  That  should  procure  us  company,  and  something  to  eat,  master,"  said 
the  Maroon,  allowing  the  horn  to  drop  back  to  its  place. 

"  Hark  !"  he  continued,  the  instant  after,  "  there  are  some  of  my  fel- 
lows !  I  thought  they  could  not  be  far  off.  You  see  these  vultures 
would  not  have  had  it  all  their  own  way,  since  my  hawks  were  so  near? 
Not  the  less  am  I  beholden  to  you,  Master  Vaughan.  I  did  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  call  my  people.  I  knew  these  three  poltroons  would  not 
venture  beyond  a  little  swaggering  talk.  See  !  they  come  !" 

"  Who  ?" 

"  The  Maroons  J" 

Herbert  heard  a  rustling  among  the  bushes  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
glade  ;  and,  in  another  instant,  about  a  dozen  armed  men  emerged 
the  underwood,  and  advanced  rapidly  towards  the  ceiba. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

A.    FOREST    BREAKFAST. 

Tm.  young  Englishman  gazed  upon  the  advancing  troop  with  keen  curios- 
ity. There  were  about  a  dozen  of  them,  all  black  men,  or  nearly  all — only  one 
or  two  of  them  showing  any  admixture  of  colour.  There  was  not  a  dwarfish 
or  deformed  figure  in  the  party.  On  the  contrary,  every  man  of  them 
possessed  a  tall  stalwart  form,  strong  muscular  limbs,  a  skin  shining  with 
health,  and  eyes  sparkling  with  a  vigorous  brilliance  that  betokened  an 
innate  sense  of  freedom  and  independence. 

Their  erect,  upright  carriage,  and  free,  forward  step,  confirmed  the  be- 
lief, which  Herbert  had  already  formed,  that  these  black  men  were  not 
bondsmen.  There  was  nothing  of  the  slave  either  in  their  looks  or  gestures. 
But  for  the  colour  of  their  skins,  he  would  never  have  thought  of  as- 
sociating such  men  with  the  idea  of  slavery.  Armed  as  they  were  with 
long  knives  and  guns,  some  of  them  with  stout  spears,  they  could  not 
be  slaves.  Besides,  their  equipments  told  that  they  were  hunters — and 
warriors,  if  need  be.  All  of  them  had  horns,  with  pouches  suspended 
over  their  shoulders ;  and  each  was  provided  with  a  netted  calabash  for 
water,  like  that  of  the  yellow  hunter,  already  described. 

A  few  carried  an  equipment  altogether  different,  consisting  of  a  small 

Cnier  of  withe-work,  or  palm-fibre  neatly  woven.  It  rested  upon  the 
k,  where  it  was  held  in  place  by  a  band  of  the  same  palm  sinuet, 
crossing  the  breast,  and  another  brought  over  the  forehead,  which  sus- 
tained a  portion  of  the  weight.  This  pannier  was  the  "  cutacoo  " — tha 
depository  of  the  "  commissariat,"  or  such  other  articles  as  were  requir 
ed  in  their  *dld  forest  rambles 


106  - 

With  regard  to  their  costume,  that  was  "  bizarre,"  though  not  unpifr 
turesque.  No  two  were  dressed  alike,  though  there  was  a  certain 
idiosyncrasy  in  their  attire,  which  proclaimed  them  all  of  one  following 
The  *'  toqued  "  "  bandanna  "  was  the  most  common  head-dress  —  a  fe^ 
having  palm-leaf  hats.  Only  some  of  them  had  a  shirt  with  sleeves 
others  wanted  a  complete  pair  of  trousers  ;  and  one  or  two  were  nakea 
from  the  waist  upward,  and  from  the  thighs  downwards  —  the  white  cot- 
ton loin-cloth  being  the  unique  and  only  garment!  All  of  them  had  their 
feet  and  ankles  covered  :  as  the  stony  and  thorny  paths  they  were  ac- 
customed to  tread  rendered  necessary.  The  "  chaussure  "  was  the  same 
in  all  ;  and  appeared  to  be  a  tight-fitting  jack-boot,  of  some  species  of 
raw  hide,  without  seam  or  stitching  of  any  kind  !  The  reddish  bristles 
standing  thickly  over  its  surface,  proclaimed  the  character  of  the  material 
It  was  the  skin  of  the  wild  hog  :  the  hind  leg  of  a  boar,  drawn  upon  the 
foot  while  fresh  and  warm,  as  it  dries  tightening  over  the  instep  and 
ankle  like  an  elastic  stocking.  A  little  trimming  with  the  knife  is  all  that 
is  necessary  for  this  ready-made  moccassin  ;  and  once  on,  it  is  never 
taken  off  till  the  wearing  of  the  sole  renders  necessary  a  refit.  Drawing 
on  his  boots,  therefore,  is  no  part  of  the  diurnal  duties  of  a  Jamaica  hog- 
hunter. 

I  have  said  that  Herbert  Yaughan  regarded  the  new  comers  with  a 
feeling  of  curiosity  as  well  as  surprise.  It  was  no  wonder  he  did  so 
The  mode  in  which  they  had  been  summoned  into  his  presence,  their 
echoing  answers  to  the  horn  signal,  and  their  prompt,  almost  instantaneous 
appearance,  formed  a  series  of  incidents  that  more  resembled  what  might 
have  been  witnessed  upon  the  stage  of  a  theatre  than  in  real  life  ;  and 
had  the  yellow  hunter  been  a  white  man,  and  he  and  his  followers  clad  in 
Lincoln  green,  the  young  Englishman  might  have  fancied  himself  in  Sher- 
wood Forest,  with  bold  Robin-  "  redivivus,"  and  his  merry  men  gathering 
around  him  ! 

What  could  these  men  be  ?  So  interrogated  himself  Herbert  Vaughan. 
Brigands  with  black  skins  ?  The  arms  and  accoutrements  gave  some 
colour  to  the  supposition  that  it  was  a  band  of  sable  robbers.  "  Mar 
roons,"  the  yellow  hunter  had  called  them  ;  and  he  had  used  the  same 
title  in  speaking  of  himself. 

Herbert  had  often  heard  the  word  ;  had  met  with  it  in  books  and  news- 
papers ;  but  was  not  acquainted  with  its  true  signification.  Maroon  ? 
runaway  negro,  as  generally  understood  ;  but  the  men  before  him  di  d  not 
correspond  to  that  definition.  Though  negroes,  they  had  not  the  appear- 
ance of  being  runaways.  On  the  contrary,  the  yellow  hunter  had  just 
made  a  declaration  that  forbade  this  belief.  They  could  not  be  run 


This  white  gentleman  has  not  eaten  breakfast,"  said  Cubina,  as  the> 
came  up.  "  Well,  Quaco  !  what  have  the  men  got  in  their  cutacoos  ?" 

The  individual  thus  appealed  to  was  a  jet  black  negro  of  large  dimen- 
sions, with  a  grave  yet  quizzical  cast  of  countenance.  He  appeared  to  be 
a  sort  of  lieutenant  :  perhaps  the  "  Little  John"  of  the  party. 

"  Well,  worthy  captain,"  answered  he,  saluting  the  yellow  hunter  with 
a  somewhat  awkward  grace  ;  "  I  believe  there's  enough,  one  thing  with 
another  —  that  be,  if  the  gentleman  has  gt>t  a  good  appetite,  and  's  not  to? 
nice  about  what  ho  eats." 


A   FOREST    BREAKFAST. 

"What  is  there?  Let  me  see!"  interrupted  Cubina,  as  he  proceeded 
to  inspect  the  panniers.  "  A  ham  of  wild  hog  barbecued,"  continued  he, 
turning  out  the  contents  of  a  cutacoo.  "  Well,  that  to  begin  with — you 
white  gentry  are  rather  partial  to  our  barbecued  hog !  What  else  1  a 
brace  of  soldier  crabs.  So  far,  good  ;  ah !  better  still,  a  pair  of  ramier 
pigeons,  and  a  wild  guinea  fowl.  Who  carries  the  coffee  and  sugar  ?" 

"  Here,  captain,"  cried  another  of  the  cutacoo  men,  throwing  his  pan 
nier  to  the  ground,  and  drawing  out  several  bags  which  contained  the  no 
cessary  materials  for  coffee-making. 

"  A  fire,  and  be  quick  1"  commanded  Cubina,  evidently  the  captain  of 
this  black  band. 

At  the  word  given  a  tinder  was  struck,  dry  leaves  and  branches  quick- 
ly  collected,  and  a  sparkling,  crackling  fire  soon  blazed  upon  the  ground. 
Over  this  was  erected  a  crane — resting  horizontally  on  two  forked  sticks 
— which  soon  carried  a  brace  of  iron  pots  suspended  in  the  blaze.  With 
so  many  cooks,  the  process  of  preparing  the  meat  for  the  pots  was  very 
short  and  quick.  The  pigeons  and  guinea  fowl  were  singed  as  fast  as 
feathers  would  burn ;  and  then  being  "  drawn  and  quartered,"  were  flung 
in  torn  fragments  into  the  largest  of  the  pots. 

The  soldier  crabs  shared  the  same  fate ;  and  some  pieces  of  the  wild 
hog  ham.  A  handful  of  salt  was  added,  water,  a  few  slices  of  plantain, 
eddoes,  calalue,  and  red  capsicum — all  of  which  ingredients  were  supplied 
from  the  cutacoos. 

A  strong  fire  of  dried  sticks  soon  brought  the  pot  to  a  furious  boil ;  and 
the  lieutenant  Quaco — who  appeared  also  to  act  as  chef  de  cuisine — after 
repeatedly  testing  the  contents,  at  length  declared  that  the  pepper-pot  was 
ready  for  serving  up. 

Dishes,  bowls,  cups,  and  platters  made  their  appearance — all  being 
shells  of  the  calabash,  of  different  shapes  ;  and  as  soon  as  Herbert  and  the 
captain  were  helped  to  the  choicest  portions  of  the  savoury  stew,  the  re. 
maincler  was  distributed  among  the  men :  who,  seating  themselves  in 
groups  over  the  ground,  proceeded  to  discuss  the  well-known  viand  with 
an  avidity  that  showed  it  was  also  their  breakfast. 

The  pepper-pot  was  not  the  sole  dish  of  the  dejeuner.  Pork  steaks',  cut 
from  the  carcass  of  the  freshly-slain  boar,  were  added  ;  while  plantains 
and  "  cocoa-fingers,"  roasted  in  the  ashes,  contributed  a  substitute  for 
bread  not  to  be  despisingly  spoken  of. 

The  second  pot  boiling  over  the  fire  contained  the  coffee ;  which, 
quaffed  from  the  calabashes,  tasted  as  fine  as  if  sipped  out  of  cupg  of  the 
purest  Sevres  porcelain. 

In  this  "  al-fresco"  feast  the  poor  captive  was  not  forgotten,  but  waj| 
supplied  among  the  rest — the  colossal  Quaco  administering  to  his  wants 
with  an  air  of  quizzical  compassion. 


A0t  CAPTAIN    CTJBINA. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CAPTAHT    OUBIXA.     , 

BMEAJCFAST  over  the  Maroons  gathered  up  their  traps,  and  prepared  fcc 

depart  from  the  spot. 

Already  the  wild  boar  had  been  butchered,  cut  up  into  portable  ftitchet 
and  packed  away  in  the  cutacoos. 

The  wales  upon  the  back  of  the  runaway  had  been  anointed  by  the 
hand  ot  Quaco  with  some  balsamic  cerate  ;  and  by  gestures  the  unfortu- 
nate youth  was  made  to  understand  that  he  was  to  accompany  the  party 
Instead  of  objecting  to  this,  his  eyes  sparkled  with  a  vivid  joy.  From 
the  courtesy  he  had  already  received  at  their  hands,  he  could  not  augur 
evil.  Whatever  might  be  their  intention,  their  chief  had  delivered  him 
for  the  time  ;  and  from  enemies,  whose  fiend-like  treatment  of  him  was 
indelibly  stamped  upon  his  person.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  well  fall 
into  more  unfeeling  hands,  than  those  from  which  he  had  escaped.  Sat- 
isfied on  this  score,  he  regarded  his  new  acquaintances  in  the  light  of 
deliverers.  Had  he  known  their  true  character  and  calling,  it  might 
have  hindered  him  from  falling  into  that  happy  illusion. 

The  Maroons,  out  of  respect  to  their  chief — whom  they  appeared  to 
treat  witl  submissive  deference — had  moved  some  distance  away,  leav- 
ing Captain  Cubina  alone  with  his  English  guest.  The  latter,  with  hia 
gun  shouldered,  stood  ready  to  depart. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  in  the  island  V  said  the  Maroon,  half  interroga- 
tively. "I  fancy  you  have  not  been  living  along  with  your  uncle  T" 

"  No;"  answered  Herbert.  "  I  never  saw  my  uncle  before  yesterday 
afternoon." 

"  Crambo !"  exclaimed  the  hunter  captain  in  some  surprise  ;  "  you  have 
just  arrived,  then  ?  In  that  case,  Master  Vaughan — and  that  is  why  I 
have  made  bold  to  ask  you — you  will  scarce  be  able  to  find  your  way 
back  to  Mount  Welcome.  One  of  my  people  will  go  with  you  f " 

"  No,  thank  you.    I  think  I  can  manage  it  alone." 

Herbert  hesitated  to  say  that  he  was  not  going  to  Mount  Welcome. 

"  It  is  a  crooked  path,"  urged  the  Maroon ;  "  though  straight  enough 
fco  one  who  knows  it  You  need  not  take  the  guide  to  the  great  house 
with  you  ;  though  Mr.  Vaughan,  I  believe,  does  not  object  to  our  people 
going  on  his  ground,  as  some  other  planters  do.  You  can  leave  the  man 
when  you  get  within  sight  of  the  place.  Without  a  guide,  I  fear  yon 
will  not  find  the  path." 

"  In  truth,  Captain  Cubina,"  said  Herbert,  no  longer  caring  what  idea 
his  words  might  communicate  to  his  Maroon  acquaintance,  "  I  don't  wislj 
to  find  the  path  you  speak  of.  I'm  not  going  that  way." 

"  Not  to  Mount  Welcome  ?" 

"  No." 

The  Maroon  remained  for  a  moment  silent,  wnile  a  puzzled  expression 
played  over  his  features.  "  Only  arrived  late  yesterday— out  all  night 
in  the  woods — not  going  back !  Something  strange  in  all  this." 

Such  were  the  quick  reflections  that  passed  through  his  mind. 

He  had  already  noticed  an  air  of  distraction — of  dejection,  too — in  thf 


OAPTAIN  OUBINA.  109 

countenance  of  the  stranger.     What  could  it  mean?    The  gay  ribbon 
knotted  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat — what  could  that  mean  ? 

Captain  Cubina  was  of  the  age,  and  perhaps  just  then  in  the  very  tem- 
per, to  observe  all  matters  that  appeared  indications  of  a  certain  soft 
sentiment;  and  both  the  blue  ribbon  and  the  thoughtful  attitude  were  of 
that  signification.  The  Maroon  captain  knew  something  of  the  white 
denizens  of  Mount  Welcome — more,  perhaps,  of  those  with  a  coloured 
skin.  Could  the  odd  behaviour  of  the  young  Englishman  be  attributed 
to  some  family  difficulty  that  might  have  arisen  there  ? 

The  Maroon  mentally  answered  this  interrogatory  for  himself,  with  the 
reflection  that  something  of  the  kind  had  occurred. 

Perhaps  Captain  Cubina  was  not  merely  guessing  ?  Perhaps  he  had 
already  listened  to  some  whisper  of  plantation  gossip  :  for  electricity  it- 
self can  scarce  travel  faster  than  news  in  the  negro  quarter!  If  the  hun- 
ter captain  had  any  suspicions  as  to  the  real  position  ef  his  woodland 
guest,  he  was  polite  enough  not  to  express  them.  On  the  contrary,  he 
waived  the  opportunity  given  him  by  Herbert's  ambiguous  rejoinder, 
and  simply  said — 

"  If  you  are  going  elsewhere,  you  will  need  a  guide  all  the  same.  This 
glade  is-  surrounded  by  a  wild  stretch  of  tangled  woods.  There  is  no 
good  path  leading  anywhere." 

*'  You  are  very  kind,"  answered  Herbert,  touched  by  the  delicate  so- 
licitude of  this  man  with  a  coloured  skin.  "  I  wish  to  reach  Montego 
Bay ;  and  if  one  of  your  men  would  set  me  on  the  main  road,  I  should 
certainly  feel  under  great  obligations.  As  to  rewarding  him  for  his 
trouble,  beyond  thanking  him,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  circumstances  just 
now  have  placed  it  out  of  my  power." 

"  Master  Vaughan !"  said  the  Maroon,  smiling  courteously  as  he  spoke, 
"  were  you  not  a  stranger  io  us  and  to  our  customs,  I  should  feel  offend- 
ed. You  speak,  as  if  you  expected  me  to  present  you  with  a  bill  for 
your  breakfast.  You  seem  to  forget,  that,  scarce  an  hour  ago  you  threw 
yourself  before  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  to  protect  the  life  of  a  Maroon — a 
poor  outcast  mulatto  of  the  mountains  ?  And  now — but  I  forgive  you. 

You  know  me  not " 

"  Pardon  me,  Captain  Cubina ;  I  assure  you " 

"Say  no  more  !     I  know  your  English  heart,  sir— still  uncorruj  tod  by 
vile  prejudices  of  caste   and   colour.      Long  may  it  remain  so  ;    and 
whether  Captain  Cubina  may  ever  see  you  again,  remember !  that  up  f 
jonder  in  the  blue  mountains" — the  Maroon  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  the  | 
purple  outline  of  a  mountain  ridge,  just  visible  over  the  tops  of  the  trees 
— "  up  yonder  dwells  a  man — a  coloured  man,  it  is  true,  but  one  whose 
heart  beats  with  gratitude  perhaps  as  truly  as  that  of  the  whitest ;  aiid 
should  you  ever  feel  the  fancy  to  honour  that  man  with  a  visit,  under  his 
humble  roof  you  will  find  both  a  friend  and  a  welcome." 

"  Thanks  I"  cried  the  young  Englishman,  stirred  to  enthusiasm  by  th« 
free  friendship  of  the  Maroon.  "I  may  some  day  avail  myself  of  your 
hospitable  offer.  Farewell !" 

"  Farewell  1"  responded  the  mulatto,  eagerly  grasping  the  hand  which 
Herbert  had  held  out  to  him.  "  Quaco  !"  he  cried,  calling  to  his  lieuten- 
ant, "  conduct  this  gentleman  to  the  main  road  that  leads  to  ttc  Bay. 
Farewell,  Master  Yaughan,  and  may  fortune  favour  youl" 


110  QTJACO   THE   GUIDE. 

It  was  not  without  regret  that  Herbert  parted  with  this  now  friend ; 
and  long  time  was  he  following  upon  the  heels  of  Quaco,  before  ne  ceas- 
ed to  reflect  on  the  circumstances  that  had  led  to  his  making  BO  singular 
%n  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

»  ^ 

QUACO     THE     GUIDE. 

QDACO  being  one  of  the  taciturn  sort,  made  no  attempt  to  interrupt  Her- 
bert's meditations  until  the  two  had  walked  together  for  more  than  a 
mile.  Then,  however,  some  matter  upon  his  mind  brought  the  negro  to 
a  halt,  and  the  commencement  of  a  conversation. 

"  Two  tracks  from  here,  buckra.  We  can  follow  either ;  but  die  to  the 
right  am  the  shortest — the  best  road,  too." 

"  Why  not  take  it,  then  ?" 

"  0 — a,  master  ;  there  may  be  reasons." 

"  What !  for  avoiding  it  ?" 

"  Ya — a !"  replied  Quaco,  in  a  thoughtful,  drawling  tone. 

"  What  reasons,  friend  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  the  roof  of  a  house— just  over  the  tops  of  them  paw- 
paws  ?" 

"Yes—what  of  that?" 

"  That's  the  baracoon." 

"Thebaracoon?" 

"  Ya — the  house  of  Jew  Jessuron." 

"  And  what  if  it  be  T" 

•'  Ah,  buckra,  what  if  it  be  ?  If  we  take  the  path  to  the  right  we  must 
pass  the  Jew's  house,  and  some  of  his  people  sure  see  us.  That  John 
Crow's  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  we  may  get  in  trouble." 

"  Oh  1  about  the  affair  of  the  runaway,  you  mean  ?  Your  captain  said 
he  belonged  to  a  Mr.  Jessuron." 

"  As  much  'bout  the  dogs,  as  the  man.  Captain  had  a  right  to  clairr 
the  runaway  as  his  catch  ;  but  these  Spanish  cusses  '11  make  a  muss  Too  at 
the  dogs.  They  '11  say  our  captain  killed  them  out  o'  spite — that  they  '11 
swa  to  ;  since  it's  well  known  we  mountainee  men  don't  like  such  inter- 
lopers here,  meddlin'  with  our  business." 

"  But  neither  you  nor  I  killed  the  dogs  ?" 

"  Ah,  bucrka,  all  the  same — you  helped — your  gun  helped  kill  the 
dog.  Besides  you  hindered  the  John  Crows  from  pecking  the  hawk." 

'  For  what  I  have  done  I  am  not  afraid  to  answer  before  a  justice,  be 
it  this  Mr.  Jessuron,  or  any  other,"  said  the  young  Englisliman  ;  conscious 
of  having  acted  rightly  in  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  quarrel. 

"  Not  much  justice  to  be  expected  from  Justice  Jessuron,  master.  My 
advice  be  to  keep  out  of  the  hands  v  f  justice  as  long  's  can ;  and  that  we 
can  only  do  by  taking  the  roadHo  the  left." 

"  Will  it  be  much  out  of  our  way  ?"  asked  Herbert ;  not  caring  tc 
greatly  inconvenience  himself  foj  Mk»3  reasons  set  forth  by  his  compap 
ion. 


QUACO   THE   GUIDE.  Ill 

a  Nothing  to  signify,"  answered  Quaco,  though  not  speaking  very  truth* 
fully  :  for  the  path  he  intended  to  take  was  really  much  longer  than  the 
one  leading  by  Jessuron's  house. 

"  In  that  case,"  assented  Herbert,  "  take  which  way  you  please." 

Without  further  parley,  Quaco  strode  forward  on  the  path  branching 
to  ihe  left — as  before,  silently  followed  by  him  whom  he  was  guiding. 
Trio  track  they  had  taken  ran  entirely  through  woods — in  some  places 
very  difficult  to  traverse  on  account  of  the  thorny  thickets  as  well  as  the 
onevenness  of  the  ground,  which  caused  the  path  to  be  constantly 
iscending,  or  trending  rapidly  downward.  At  length,  however,  they  ar- 
rived at  the  summit  of  a  high  ridge,  and  were  moving  onwards  amidst 
groves  of  pimento,  more  open  than  the  forest  from  which  they  had 
emerged. 

From  the  top  of  the  ridge,  Herbert  saw  a  large  house  shining  against 
the  verdant  back-ground  of  the  landscape,  which  he  at  once  recognised 
as  the  Mansion  of  Mount  Welcome.  They  were  not  going  towards  the 
house,  but  in  a  diagonal  direction,  which  would  bring  them  out  on  the 
avenue  near  the  entrance  gate. 

Herbert  called  out  to  his  guide  to  make  halt.  The  young  man  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  entering  upon  the  avenue,  lest  he  might  encounter  some 
of  his  uncle's  people — a  circumstance  which  he  should  not  wish  to  have 
reported  at  the  great  house.  He  therefore  requested  Quaco  to  conduct 
him  by  some  way  lying  more  to  the  right — so  that  he  might  reach  the 
main  road  without  being  seen  from  Mount  Welcome. 

The  guide  yielded  compliance,  though  not  without  a  little  grumbling 
reluctance — as  he  turned  off,  muttering  some  words  about  giving  "as 
wide  a  berth  as  possible  to  the  baracoon." 

He  obliqued,  however,  into  a  new  direction  ;  and  after  another  tra versa 
through  the  woods,  Herbert  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  himself  on  the 
main  road  leading  to  Montego  Bay.  He  would  not  have  known  it  but 
for  the  guide,  as  he  had.  only  travelled  this  road  as  far  as  the  gate  of 
Mount  Welcome ;  and  the  point  at  which  he  had  now  reached  it  was  a 
half-mile  further  on.  Bettor  for  him  if  he  had  left  Quaco  to  his  own 
judgment,  and  permitted  himself  to  be  conducted  by  the  path  which  the 
guide  had  originally  intended  to  take.  By  doing  so,  he  would  havo 
reached  the  road  at  a  point  nearer  the  town,  and  in  all  probability  have 
avoided  an  encounter  of  a  most  disagreeable  kind. 

On  the  main  road  he  had  no  farther  need  of  a  guide,  and  Quaco  was 
just  on  the  point  of  taking  leave  of  him,  when  at  that  moment  a  party  of 
horsemen  suddenly  made  its  appearance  round  a  bend  in  the  road.  There 
were  six  or  seven  in  all ;  and  they  were  riding  forward  at  a  rapid  pace, 
as  if  bent  upon  some  serious  business.  At  the  first  sight  of  these  stran- 
gers, Quaco  shot  like  an  arrow  into  the  underwood — calling  upon  the 
buckra  to  follow  his  example.  Herbert,  however,  disdaining  to  hide 
himself,  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Seeing  his  deter- 
mination, Quaco  returned  to  his  side — as  he  did  so,  clamorously  protest- 
ing  at  the  imprudence  of  his  '  protege.' 

"  Don't  like  their  looks,"  muttered  the  Maroon,  as  he  glanced  appre- 
hensively towards  the  horsemen,  "  It  might  be— by  the  Great  Accom- 
pong  it  is ! — that  harpy  Havener,  the  overseer  of  Jessurou.  Now,  buckra, 
we'y  JJJ  for  it !  No  use  try  in'  to  escape  'em  now/' 


112  A   JAMAICA  JUSTICE. 

As  Qnaco  finished  speaking  Hie  horsemen  rode  forward  on  the  grouftd 
—one  and  all  halting  as  they  came  to  the  spot  where  the  pedestrian! 
Were  standing. 

"Here's  our  fellow,"  cried  the  bearded  man  at  their  head,  whom  Her- 
bert easily  identified.  "Just  dropped  upon  him  like  a  duck  upon  a  June 
bug.  Now,  Mr.  Tharpey,  do  your  duty !  We'll  hear  what  this  young 
gentleman's  got  to  say  before  the  justice." 

"  I  arrest  you,  sir,"  said  the  person  appealed  to  as  Mr.  Tharpey.  "  I 
am  head  constable  of  the  parish — I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  the  law." 

"  On  what  charge  ?"  demanded  Herbert,  indignantly.  i 

"Mr.  Havener  here  will  bring  the  charge.    I've  got  nothing  to  do  with  I 
that  part  of  it.     You  must  come  before  the  nearest  justice.    I  reckon  the 
nighest  justice  from  here  is  the  custos  Vaughan  ?" 

This  half  interrogatory  of  the  constable  was  addressed  not  to  Her- 
bert, but  to  his  own  followers.  Though  it  was  spoken  rather  in  an 
undertone,  the  young  man  heard  it  with  sufficient  distinctness,  and  with 
very  little  complacency.  To  be  carried  back  into  the  presence  of  his 
uncle — whom  he  had  so  lately  defied — and  in  the  character  of  a  felon ; 
to  be  brought,  under  such  humiliating  circumstances,  before  the  eyes 
of  his  fair  cousin — before  the  eye-glass  of  his  late  fellow-passenger — 
was  a  prospect  that  could  not  fail  but  be  unpleasant.  It  was  a  sort 
of  relief  then  when  Havener — who  appeared  to  use  some  guiding  in- 
fluence upon  the  constable,  and  his  posse  comitatus — overruled  the  sug- 
gestion that  Mr.  Vaughan  was  the  nearest  magistrate,  and  claimed  the 
honour  for  Jacob  Jessuron,  Esq.,  of  the  Happy  Valley. 

After  some  discussion  between  the  parties  upon  this  moot  legal 
point,  the  overseer's  opinion  was  adopted  ;  and  it  was  determined  thai 
the  case  should  be  carried  before  Justice  Jessuron.  Both  Herbert  and 
Quaoo  were  then  formally  arrested  in  the  name  of  the  king,  and  march- 
ed off  in  custody — not  without  some  very  vociferous  protestations  on 
the  part  of  the  latter,  with  a  long  string  of  threats  that  he  would 
some  day  make  both  constable  and  overseer  pay  for  this  outrage  upon 
the  person  of  a  Maroon, 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

A  JAMAICA  JUSTICK. 

JISSURON,  ESQUIRE,  held  court  in  the  verandah  of  his  dingy  dwelling-house, 
where  we  have  already  seen  him  assisting  at  a  different  spectacle.  He 
was  n<1w  seated,  with  a  small  table  before  him,  covered  with  a  piece  of 
green  baize,  and  carrying  a  gold  snuff-box,  an  inkstand,  pens,  and  some 
sheets  of  paper.  A  book  or  two  lay  upon  the  table,  one  of  which,  by  the 
lettering  upon  its  cover,  proclaimed  its  title  and  character — The  Jamaica 
Justice.  It  was  bound  in  black  leather — a  colour  sufficiently  emblematic 
of  the  chief  subject  on  which  it  treated  :  for  more  than  four-fifths  of  the 
laws  and  regulations  it  contained  related  to  creatures  with  black  skins. 

The  justice  was  in  full  costume,  as  the  occasion  required — that  is,  he 
jroie  his  beat  blue  body  coat  with  gilt  buttons,  hie  clraD  smallclothes,  an4 


. 

A  JAMAICA  JUSTICE.  113 

top-boots.  The  white  beaver  had  been  laid  aside  ;  as  the  sanctity  of  jus- 
tice requires  even  the  judge's  head  to  be  uncovered.  With  Judge  Jea 
suron,  however,  the  uncovering  extended  only  as  far  as  the  hat.  The 
white  cotton  skullcap  still  remained  upon  his  cranium :  justice  in  Jamaica 
not  being  so  rigorous  as  to  exact  its  removal.  With  the  spectacles  well 
set  upon  his  nose,  and  his  thin  face  screwed  into  an  expression  of  pom* 
pous  importance,  Squire  Jessuron  sat  behind  the  baize-covered  table  that 
constituted  the  bench. 

He  was  sole  justice  present ;  but,  of  course,  it  was  merely  a  "  preliml-  j 
nary  inquiry  before  a  magistrate."    To  have  tried  a  white  criminal  on  the  j 
serious  charge  brought  against  Herbert  Vaughan,  would  have  required  a 
fuller  bench — at  least  three  magistrates,  and  one  of  them  a  custos. 

Jessuron's  power  could  go  no  farther  than  to  commit  the  presumed 
criminal  to  prison,  until  a  more  formal  process  should  be  organised 
Against  him. 

Herbert  had  been  brought  up  in  front  of  the  table-— his  captor,  the 
constable;  and  one  or  two  of  the  posse  standing  behind  him.  On  the 
right  side  appeared  Havener,  backed  by  the  two  Spanish  cacadores ;  the 
lask-mentioned  worthies  no  longer — as  had  formerly  been  their  constant 
custom — attended  by  their  canine  companions.  Quaco  had  been  left  in 
the  yard  below — unguarded — since  there  was,  in  reality,  no  charge 
against  him.  There  was  one  other  witness  to  this  magisterial  trial — the 
daughter  of  the  justice  himself.  Yes,  the  fair  Judith  was  present— as  on 
all  important  occasions  ;  but  this  time  not  conspicuously  so.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  was  seated  in  a  window  that  opened  on  the  verandah,  her 
beautiful  face  half  concealed  behind  the  netted  fringe-work  of  the  cur- 
tains. The  position  enabled  her  to  observe  what  was  passing  without 
formally  exposing  her  own  person  to  view.  Her  face  was  not  altogether 
hidden  ;  and  her  white  shining  forehead  and  dark  lustrous  eyes,  gleaming 
through  the  gauzy  muslin  that  veiled  them,  only  appeared  more  piquantiy 
attractive.  It  was  evident,  from  her  actions,  that  the  gentle  Judith  had 
no  intention  of  remaining  unseen.  There  were  several  rather  good-look- 
ing young  men  in  the  party  that  accompanied  the  constable — dashing  fel- 
lows he  had  picked  up  by  the  way — and  who  desired  nothing  better  than 
a  lark  of  this  kind.  From  the  moment  that  these  had  entered  the  court- 
yard, the  fair  mistress  of  the  mansion  had  been  almost  constantly  at  the 
window. 

It  was  only,  however,  after  the  people  had  got  grouped  in  the  gallery, 
that  she  took  her  seat  behind  the  curtain  and  entered  upon  a  more  minute 
inspection  of  their  faces  and  persons.  She  was  not  long  engaged  in  thii 
game,  when  a  change  might  have  been  observed  passing  over  her  counte- 
nance. At  first  her  eyes  had  wandered  from  face  to  face  with  rather  a 
sneering,  cynical  expression — such  as  the  Jewess  well  knew  how  to  put 
on.  All  at  once,  however,  her  gaze  became  fixed,  and  the  contemptuous 
smile  gradually  gave  place  to  a  look  of  more  serious  regard.  By  follow- 
ing the  direction  of  her  eyes  the  object  of  this  regard  could  easily  be 
discovered.  It  was  the  "  prisoner  at  tho  bar  1" 

What  was  the  meaning  of  that  gaze  ?    Sympathy  for  the  accused  ? 

She  knew  why  the  young  man  was  there.  Havener  had  already  in|&r- 
9»ed  her  father  of  all  that  had  transpired,  and  .he  daughter  had  heard  th« 


114  A  JAMAICA  JUSTICE. 

tale.  Was  it  a  generous  pity  for  the  position  in  which  this  unknown 
youth  was  placed,  that  was  now  stirring  within  the  breast  of  the  fair 
Judith,  and  had  produced  that  sudden  change  in  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  ?  Hers  was  hardly  the  soul  for  such  a  sentiment. 

Certainly,  however,  was  she  actuated  by  some  motive  different  from  the 
common :  as  the  trial  progressed  she  no  longer  looked  stealthily  from  be- 
hind the  curtain ;  but  having  drawn  it  to  one  side,  she  directed  her  full 
glance  on  the  stranger,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  apparently  re« 
gardless  of  any  observation  which  her  conduct  might  call  forth.  Her 
father,  whose  back  was  towards  her,  saw  nothing  of  this ;  though  it  waa 
not  unnoticed  by  the  others-  -Ravener,  in  particular,  appearing  to  suifei 
annoyance  at  the  act. 

The  young  Englishman — though  little  disposed  at  that  moment  to  the 
contemplation  of  aught  beyond  his  own  unpleasant  position — could  not 
help  observing  the  beautiful  face  directly  opposite  to  where  he  stood ; 
nor  did  he  fail  to  notice  the  peculiar  glance  with  which  he  was  being  re- 
garded. 

Was  the  old  man,  oefore  whom  he  stood  on  trial,  the  father  of  that  fair 
creature  at  the  window  ?  Such  was  his  interrogative  reflection  as  he 
glanced  inquiringly  from  the  one  to  the  other.  If  so,  the  frowns  of  the 
father  were  in  striking  contrast  with  the  soft,  sympathetic  looks  directed 
upon  him  by  the  daughter !  Herbert  could  not  hinder  himself  from  making 
the  observation. 

Some  time  had  been  occupied  by  the  overseer  in  telling  his  story — to 
substantiate  the  charge  he  had  made.  That  done,  the  prisoner  was  put 
upon  his  defence. 

"  Young  man !"  said  the  justice,  "  you  have  heard  what  thish  witness 
alleges  against  you.  What  hash  you  to  say  in  your  defence  ?  and  first  telJ 
ush  what's  your  name  ?" 

"  Herbert  Vaughan." 

Jessuron  re-adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  looked  at  the  prisoner  with 
Borne  show  of  surprise.  The  by-standers — stolid  constable  and  all — 
Rcemed  a  little  startled.  Quaco,  whose  colossal  form  rose  above  the  rail- 
ings in  the  background,  uttered  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  on  hearing  the 
young  man's  name — which  he  had  not  known  before — a  name  all-powyrful 
in  the  district,  being  that  of  the  mighty  custos  himself! 

There  was  one  upon  whom  the  words  appeared  to  produce  an  impres* 
sion  different  from  that  of  mere  surprise.  A  glance  of  anger  shot  from 
the  dark  eyes  of  the  Jewess  as  she  heard  it  pronounced,  and  the  look  of 
sympathy  for  the  moment  disappeared.  Evidently,  to  her  the  name  waa 
distasteful 

"  Herbert  Yochan  ?"  repeated  the  justice.  "  Might  you  be  any  kinsh« 
man  of  Mishter  Vochan  of  Mount  Welcome  ?" 

"  His  nephew,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  Ah  I  hish  nephew  !  Blesh  my  soul !  is  that  true  ?" 

This  announcement,  as  testified  by  his  speech,  produced  a  sudden  com- 
motion in  the  mind  of  the  Jew-justice.  From  some  little  that  was  known 
of  his  secret  hostility  towards  his  neighbour  of  Mount  Welcome — Rave- 
ner knew  more  than  a  little — it  might  have  been  expected  that  the  dis- 
covery of  the  relationship  of  the  prisoner  would  have  put  him  in  high 
glee.  To  be  sitting  in  judgment  upon  the  near  kinsman  of  the  custoB— 


A  JAMAICA  JUSTICE. 

of  a  serious  crime,  too — was  a  proud  position  for  Jacob  Jessuron,  \vhc 
could  remember  many  a  slight  he  had  received  from  the  haughty  lord  of 
Mount  Welcome.  What  a  splendid  revanche ! 

Certainly  the  manner  of  the  justice,  on  learning  who  was  before  him, 
•eemed  to  indicate  that  such  were  his  reflections.  He  rubbed  his  skinny 
hands  together ;  helped  himself  from  his  gold  snuff-box  ;  gleefully  smiled 
from  behind  his  glasses,  which  were  once  more  shifted  upon  the  sharp 
ridge  of  his  nose  ;  and  then,  bending  his  face  forward  over  the  table,  he 
remained  for  some  moments  smiling,  but  silent  and  thoughtful,  as  if  con- 
sidering how  he  should  proceed. 

After  a  time  he  raised  his  eyes  and  freshly  scrutinised  the  prisoner — 
who  had  already  returned  an  affirmative  answer  to  his  last  query. 

"  Blesh  my  soul ! — I  never  knew  that  Mishter  Vochan  had  a  nephew  I 
You  are  from  England,  young  mansh  ?  Hash  your  uncle  any  more  Eng- 
lish nephews  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  ain  aware  of,"  replied  Herbert,  frankly.  "  I  believe  I  am 
his  only  relative  of  that  kind — in  England,  at  least." 

The  proviso  in  this  reply  betrayed  a  significant  fact :  that  the  young 
man  was  not  very  well  acquainted  with  the  family  affairs  of  his  colonial 
kinsman.  The  astute  justice  did  not  fail  to  note  this  deficiency  in  the 
nephew's  knowledge. 

"  How  long  hash  you  been  in  Shamaica  ?"  asked  he,  as  if  endeavouring 
to  arrive  at  an  explanation  of  some  point  that  was  puzzling  him. 

"  A  night,  and  part  of  two  days — in  all,  about  sixteen  hours,"  replied 
Herbert,  with  scrupulous  exactness. 

"  Blesh  my  soul  1"  again  exclaimed  the  justice  ;  "  only  sixteen  hours  I 
It'sh  a  wonder  you're  not  at  your  uncle's  house  ?  You  has  been  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Herbert,  carelessly. 

"  You  come  to  shtay  at  Mount  Welcome,  I  supposh  ?" 

Herbert  made  no  reply  to  this  interrogatory. 

"  You  shleep  there  last  night  ?  Excush  me,  young  man,  for  aahking 
the  question,  but  as  a  magistrate " 

"  You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  the  answer,  your  worship"  said  Herbert, 
laying  a  satirical  emphasis  on  the  titular  phrase ;  "  I  did  not  sleep  there 
last  night." 

"  Where  did  you  shleep  ?" 

"  IB  the  woods,"  answered  Herbert. 

"  Moshesh !"  exclaimed  the  Jew-justice,  raising  hia  spectacles  in  sur 
prise.  "  In  the  woods,  you  shay  ?" 

"  In  the  woods,"  re-affirmed  the  young  man ;  "under  a  tree  ;  and  a  rery 
good  bed  I  found  it,"  he  added,  jocosely. 

"  And  did  your  uncle  know  of  thish  ?" 

"  I  suppose  my  uncle  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  as  little  did  he  care," 
replied  Herbert,  with  a  reckless  indifference  as  to  what  answer  he  gave. 

The  bitter  emphasis  on  the  last  words,  with  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  delivered,  did  not  escape  the  acute  observation  of  Jessuron.  A 
suspicion  had  arisen  in  his  mind,  that  there  was  something  amiss  in  the 
relationship  between  the  young  man  and  his  uncle  ;  to  the  comprehen- 
sion of  which  the  answer  of  the  former,  aided  by  a  knowledge  of  the 
character  and  affairs  of  the  latter,  was  gradually  giving  him  a  clue.  A 
•ecret  joy  sparkled  in  his  sunken  eyes  as  he  M*tonod  to  the  last  answer 


A  JAMAICA  JTJ8TIOB. 

given.    All  at  once  he  discontinued  the  direct  examination  cf  the  pri» 
oner  ;  and,  signing  to  Ravener  and  the  constable  to  come  nearer,  ho  be- 
came engaged  with  these  two  worthies  in  a  whispering  conversation. 
What  passed  between  the  trio  the  young  Englishman  could  not  tell,  noi 
indeed  any  one  else  who  chanced  to  be  present.    The  result,  however, 
was  to  Herbert  as  pleasant  as  unexpected.    When  Jessuron  again  re- 
turned to  address  him,  a  complete  change  appeared  to  have  taken  place 
in  his  manner ;  and  instead  of  the  frowning  iustice,  Herbert  now  saw  be- 1 
fore  him  a  man  who  appeared  more  in  the  character  of  a  friendly  pro  too-  • 
tor — bland,  smiling,  almost  obsequious  1 

"  Mr.  Vochan,''  said  he,  rising  from  his  magisterial  seat  and  extending 
his  hand  to  the  prisoner,  "  you  will  excush  the  rough  treatment  you  hash 
had  from  theesh  people.  It  ish  a  great  crime  in  thish  country — helping 
a  runaway  shlave  to  eshcape  ;  but  as  you  hash  joosh  landed,  and  cannot 
be  ekshpected  to  know  our  shtatutes,  the  law  deals  mershifully  with  a 
firsht  offence.  Besides,  in  thish  instance,  the  runaway — who  ish  one  of 
my  own  shlaves — did  not  eshcape.  He  ish  in  the  hands  of  the  Maroons, 
and  will  soon  be  brought  in.  The  punishment  I  inflict  upon  you — and  I 
shall  tnshist  upon  its  being  carried  out — ish,  that  you  eats  your  dinner 
with  me,  and — I  think  that  ish  punishment  enough.  Mishter  Ravener ," 
added  he,  calling  to  his  overseer,  and  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  Quaco, 
"  take  that  good  fellow  and  see  that  he  ish  carred  for.  Now,  Mr.  Vochan! 
pleash  to  step  into  the  housh,  and  allow  me  to  introshuce  you  to  my 
daughter  Shoodith." 

It  would  have  been  contrary  to  all  human  nature  had  Herbert  Vaughan 
not  felt  gratified  at  the  pleasant  turn  which  this  disagreeable  affair  had 
taken ;  and  perhaps  this  gratification  was  enchanced  at  the  prospect  of 
the  proposed  introduction.  Indeed,  no  man,  however  cold  his  nature, 
could  have  looked  upon  those  lovely  eyes — so  long  watching  him  from 
the  window — without  wishing  a  nearer  acquaintance  with  their  owner. 

The  angry  glance  had  been  evanescent.  It  was  gone  long  before  the 
conclusion  of  the  trial  scene ;  and  as  the  young  Englishman — in  obedience 
to  the  invitation  of  his  ci-devant  judge — stepped  across  the  verandah,  the 
fair  face,  retreating  from  the  window,  seemed  suffused  with  the  sweet- 
est and  most  sympathetic  of  smiles. 


AS   trNEXl'ECTEl)  FATfcOtf.  117 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

AH     UNEXPECTED     F  A  T  R  0  H  . 

THUS  had  the  chapter  of  accidents  that  conducted  Herbert  Vaughtn  to 
the  penn  of  Jacob  Jessuron  come  to  a  very  unexpected  ending. 

But  the  end  was  not  yet.  There  was  more  to  come — much  more.  We 
have  seen  how  the  prisoner  became  the  guest  of  his  judge — being  sen- 
tenced by  the  latter  to  dine  with  him,  Nor  did  the  former  find  the  pen- 
alty a  severe  one,  as  his  host  had  incidently  hinted  it  might  be.  On  the 
contrary,  the  young  Englishman  found  himself  seated  before  a  table  far 
better  provided  than  anything  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  at  home 
and  riot  much  inferior  to  that  which  he  might  have  seen  spread  at  Mount 
Welcome — had  it  been  his  good  fortune  to  dine  there. 

Nor  was  a  fine  dinner  a  rarity  on  the  table  of  Jacob  Jessuron.  Grasp- 
ing and  avaricious  as  was  this  West  Indian  Israelite,  and  somewhat  neg- 
lectful of  external  appearance — as  indicated  by  his  rather  shabby  dress 
— he  was,  nevertheless,  addicted  to  luxurious  living  ;  and,  though  with 
less  parade,  as  fond  of  good  eating  and  drinking  as  the  owner  of  Meunt 
Welcome. 

Not  that  in  his  mcnaga  he  eschewed  ornament  altogether.  His  estab- 
lishment was  genteel,  his  domestics  numerous  and  well  equipped — of 
late  years  more  than  formerly :  on  account  of  the  advance  which  he  had 
made  both  in  wealth  and  social  position. 

Herbert,  therefore,  dinned  well ;  and  was,  of  course,  no  little  gratified 
by  the  unexpected  hospitality  shown  him  by  the  Jew-justice — the  more 
BO  when  he  contrasted  it  with  the  niggardly  behaviour  of  his  own  uncle. 
<,     He  took  it  for  granted  that  it  was  to  his  uncle's  name  he  was  indebted 
Jfor  the  honours  that  were  being  done  to  him — a  mere  neighbourly  feel- 
ing of  the  penn-keeper  for  the  great  sugar-planter. 

"  They  are  friends,"  thought  Herbert,  "  and  this  kindness  to  me  is  the 
offspring  of  that  friendship." 

The  reflection  did  not  give  him  pleasure,  but  the  contrary.  He  felt 
himself  in  an  awkward  position  —  the  recipient  of  a  hospitality  not 
meant  for  himself,  but  for  one  who  had  injured  him;  and  who 
although  his  own  relative,  he  now  regarded  as  his  enemy.  Had 
the  reflection  occured  to  him  sooner,  he  would  have  declined  the  in  vita 
tion  to  dine — even  at  the  risk  of  giving  offence.  But  the  thing  had  come 
upon  him  so  unexpectedly,  that  he  had  not  thought  of  the  peculiar  posi- 
tion in  which  he  was  placing  himself  with  regard  to  his  uncle.  He 
thought  of  it  now,  and  uneasily.  His  uncle  would  hear  of  it— no  doubt, 


AN    UNEXPECTED   PATROW. 

soon — and  would  be  able  to  accuse  him  of  taking  advantage  of  his  lame. 
The  thought  caused  Herbert  a  very  unpleasant  feeling.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  cared  less  had  there  been  no  one  but  his  uncle  to  be  cogniz- 
ant of  the  false  position.  But  there  was.  His  short  and  troubled  visit 
to  Mount  Welcome  had  made  Herbert  Vaughan  acquainted  with  one 
whose  remembrance  was  likely  fer  a  long  time  to  oxert  an  influence  over 
his  thoughts,  even  though  lips  as  red,  and  eyes,  perhaps,  as  brilliant  ac 
hers,  were  now  smiling  courteously  upon  him.  The  memory  of  his  cousin 
Kate  was  still  mellow  ;  he  could  fancy  her  soft,  sweet  voice  yet  ringing  ie 
his  ears  ;  the  warm  glow  of  her  virgin  presence  seemed  hanging  like  t 
halo  around  him ;  all  these  urging  him  to  preserve  the  heroism  of  hi* 
character,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  standing  well  in  her  estimation. 

Influenced  by  these  considerations,  he  resolved  to  throw  off  the  niAsk 
with  which  circumstances  had  momentarily  invested  him,  and  declare  the 
true  position  in  which  he  stood  to  his  haughty  relative.  It  was  not  until 
the  conclusion  of  the  dinner — after  the  daughter  of  his  host  had  retired 
smilingly  from  the  table — that  the  young  Englishman  unburdened  himself. 
Then — perhaps  a  little  prompted  by  the  wine — he  made  a  full  confession 
of  the  disagreeable  circumstances  existing  between  himself  and  the  mas- 
ter of  Mount  Welcome.  Was  it  the  wine — somewhat  freely  pressed  upon 
him — that  hindered  him  from  perceiving  the  displeasure  which  his  com- 
munication had  produced  upon  his  hearer  ?  Was  there  any  displeasure  ? 
Herbert  did  not  perceive  it,  if  there  was.  On  the  contrary,  had  the  young 
man  been  closely  observant,  he  might  have  noticed  an  effect  altogether 
of  an  opposite  character.  Behind  the  green  goggles,  he  might  have  seen 
those  deep,  dark,  Israelitifih  eyes  sparkling  with  a  fiendish  joy  at  the  re- 
velation he  had  made. 

Though  Herbert  did  not  perceive  this,  he  could  not  help  biing  consci- 
ous that  his  confession  had  not  done  much  injury  to  himself  in  the  eyes 
of  his  entertainer.  The  Jew  was  certainly  not  less  courteous  than  before 
but,  if  anything  more  profuse  in  his  proffers  of  hospitality.  Indeed,  be- 
fore another  hour  had  passed  over  his  head,  the  homeless  adventurer  came 
to  know  that  in  his  Hebrew  host — in  his  judge,  who,  but  a  sbort  while 
ago,  had  been  trying  him  for  a  serious  misdemeanour — he  had  found  a 
sympathetic  friend  ;  at  all  events,  a  patron  and  protector  !  The  young 
Englishman  could  not  be  otherwise  than  convinced  of  this,  by  th-s  conver- 
sation that  followed,  and  the  consequences  resulting  from  it. 

"  Tin  exsheedingly  sorry,  young  Mishter  Vochan,"  said  the  J»w,  some 
iime  after  his  surprise  at  Herbert's  revelations  had  apparently  eubsided 
— "  exsheedingly  sorry  I  ish — to  hear  that  you  and  your  uncle  ish  not  oil 
good  terms.  Ah  1  well ;  we  mush  hope  for  the  better  ;  and,  ash  /  am  ono 
of  Mishter  Vochan's  humble  friendish,  possibly  I  might  do  something  to 
reconshile  your  little  quarrel.  Dosh  you  not  intend  going  back  te  Mount 
Welcome !" 

"  Never.     After  what  has  passed,  never !" 

"  Ach  1  yoush  musht  not  be  too  revengeful.  Miahter  Vocha*  ish  a 
proud  man  ;  and  I  mush  say  he  hash  behaved  badly — very  badly  ;  but  still 
iio  ish  your  uncle." 

"  He  has  not  acted  as  such.'' 

"  That  iflh  true — very  true — thish  fine  gentleman  you  shspeak  -,f    «htfll 


AK  UNEXPECTED  PATROff.  119 

that  ish  no  reason  why  Mishter  Vochan  shouU  treat  liiah  o^n  ne^new  eho 
flkabby,  Well,  well — I  am  sorry — exsheedirigly  sorry.  But,  Mashtei 
Herbert,"  continued  the  penn-keeper,  interrogating  his  guest  with  evident 
interest,  "  what  dosh  you  intend  to  do  ?  I  supposb  you  hash  monish  of 
your  own  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Jessuron,  I  have  not.*' 

"  No  monish  at  all !" 

"  Not  a  shilling,"  affirmed  Herbert,  with  a  careless  laugh, 

"  That  ish  bad.  Where  dosh  you  think  of  going— since  you  sLay  yon 
will  not  return  to  Mount  Welcome  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Herbert,  still  preserving  his  air  of  jocularity,  "  I  was 
making  for  the  port  again,  when  your  worthy  overseer  and  his  friend  in- 
tercepted me — luckily,  I  may  say,  since,  but  for  their  -intervention,  I 
should  in  all  likelihood  have  gone  without  dinner  to-day — at  all  events,  T 
should  not  have  dined  so  sumptuously." 

"  A  wretched  dinner,  Mashter  Vochan — a  misherable  dinner  to  what 
your  uncle  could  have  given  you.  I'm  but  a  poor  humble  man  coc.  pared 
with  the  cushtos  ;  but  what  I  hash  ish  at  your  service  any  time." 

"  Thanks !"  said  Herbert ;  "  I  know  not,  Mr.  Jessuron,  how  I  shall  over 
repay  you  for  your  hospitality.  I  must  not  tax  it  any  longer,  however. 
I  see,  by  the  sun,  it  is  time  I  should  be  making  for  the  Bay." 

As  Herbert  spoke,  he  was  rising  to  take  his  departure. 

"  Shtop,  shtop  !"  cried  his  host,  pushing  him  back  into  his  chair  ;  '*  not 
to-night,  Mashter  Vochan,  not  thish  night.  I  can  t  promish  you  ash  fine 
a  bed  as  yoush  might  get  at  Mount  Welcome,  but  I  tLink  I  can  give  you 
a  better  as  you  slileep  in  lash  night — ha,  hal  You  musht  stay  with  ush 
thish  night,  and  Shoodith  will  make  yoush  some  music.  Don't  shay  a 
word  ;  I  takesh  no  refushal." 

The  offer  was  a  tempting  one;  and,  after  some  further  pressure,  Her- 
bert acquiesced  in  it.  He  was  partly  influenced  by  the  poor  prospect  of 
a  lodging  which  the  Bay  afforded  him  ;  and,  perhaps,  a  little  from  a  desire 
to  hear  the  promised  music.  The  conversation  was  continued,  by  his 
host  putting  some  further  interrogatories.  How  did  Herbert  intend  to 
employ  himself  in  the  Bay  ?  What  prospect  had  he  of  employment ;  and 
in  what  line  t 

"  I  fear  not  much  in  any  line"  replied  the  young  man,  answering  both 
questions  in  one,  and  in  a  tone  of  sarcastic  despondence. 

"  Hash  you  no  professhion  ?" 

"  Alas,  no !"  replied  Herbert.  "It  was  intended  by  my  father  I  shcuM 
have  one ;  but  he  died  before  my  education  was  completed  ;  and  my  col- 
lege— as  is  too  often  the  case — has  taught  me  little  more  than  a  knowledge 
of  dead  languages." 

"  No  \ishe — no  ushe,  whatever,"  rejoined  the  intelligent  Israelite. 

"  I  can  draw  a  landscape,"  pursued  the  young  man,  modestly,  "  or  paint 
a  portrait  tolerably  well,  I  believe — my  father  himself  taught  me  these 
accomplishments." 

"  Ah !  Mashter  Vochan,  neither  ish  of  the  shlightest  ushe  here  in 
Shamaica.  If  you  Could  paint  a  housh,  or  a  wagon,  it  would  luring  you 
more  monish  than  to  make  the  likeneshes  of  every  face  in  the  island 
What  saysh  you  to  the  situation  of  book-keeper  ?" 


120  &**   tJN  EXPECTED   PATKOtf. 

*  Unfortunately,  I  know  nothing  of  accounts.  The  very  useful  science 
of  book-keeping — either  by  double  or  single  entry — I  have  not  been 
taught" 

u  Ha  I  ha  1  ha  I"  replied  Jessuron,  with  an  encouraging  chuckle,  "  you 
ish  what  we,  in  Shamaica,  call  green,  Mashter  Vochan.  You  musht  know 
that  a  book-keeper  here  hash  no  books  to  keep — neither  day-books  nor 
ledgers.  He  doesh  not  even  put  a  pen  to  paper." 
"  How  is  that,  Mr.  Jessuron  ?  I  have  heard  the  statement  before,  though 
I  did  not  comprehend  what  was  meant  by  it." 

"  Then  I  musht  explain,  Mashter  Vochan.  There  ish  a  law  here  which 
makes  all  proprietors  of  shlaves  keep  a  white  man  on  hish  estate  for  every 
fifty  blacksh.  A  very  shilly  law  it  ish  ;  but  it  ish  a  law.  Theesh  white 
supernumeraries  are  called  book-keepers  :  though,  ash  I've  told  you,  they 
keepsh  no  books.  Now  you  undershtand  what  it  meansh." 

"  Then  what  duties  do  they  perform  ?" 

"  Oh !  that  depends  on  circumsthances.  Some  look  after  thd  shlaves, 
and  some  do  thish  and  some  that.  But,  egad  1  now  I  think  of  it,  Mashter 
Vochan,  I  am  myshelf  in  need  of  a  book-keeper.  I  have  joosh  bought  a 
new  lot  of  blacksh,  and  I  musht  not  break  the  law.  I  am  ushed  to  give 
my  book-keepers  fifty  poundsh  a  year,  cutrenshy  ;  but  if  you  would  be 
content  to  acchept  such  a  berth,  I  would  make  the  salary— on  account  of 
your  uncle — a  hundred  poundsh  a  year.  You  would  also  be  found  in 
everything  elsh.  What  dosh  you  shay,  Mashter  Vochan  ?" 

The  unexpected  proposal  caused  the  young  Englishman  to  hesitate  and 
reflect.  Not  long,  however.  His  forlorn,  homeless  situation  presented 
itself  too  forcibly  to  his  mind,  to  detain  him  long  in  doubt  as  to  what  an- 
swer he  should  make.  A  hundred  a  year,  though  it  was  "  currency,"  was 
more  than  he  was  likely  to  obtain  else  where — far  more  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. And  for  this  there  was  apparently  no  very  arduous  duties  to  be 
performed.  It  is  true  he  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  man  who  pro- 
posed to  employ  him.  He  had  not  failed  to  notice  his  Jewish  and  some- 
what forbidding  physiognomy ;  but  after  the  kind  treatment  he  had  al- 
ready experienced  at  the  hands  of  this  man,  he  could  not  augur  very  ill 
of  him.  After  all,  what  signified  who  might  be  his  master,  whether  Jew 
or  Gentile  ?  He  was  not  in  a  position  to  be  over-scrupulous  about  whose 
bread  he  should  eat.  These  reasons  and  reflections  passing  rapidly 
through  his  mind,  urged  him  to  the  acceptance  of  the  proposal  mad*  by 
his  host.  There  was  another  reflection  that  occurred  to  him ;  and  though 
so  faint  and  vague,  that  he  was  scarce  conscicus  of  its  existence,  yet  it 
was  a  motive  for  his  remaining,  stronger  than  all  the  rest  With  or  with- 
out  the  others,  it  would  have  decided  him  to  give  an  affirmative  answer. 

After  a  little  more  fencing  about  the  conditions — which  Herbert  deenv 
ed  only  too  generous—he  accepted  the  situation ;  and  from  that  hour  th« 
Happy  Valley  became  his  home 


s 


A  PLOTTING   PABENT. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

A  PLOTTING  PARENT. 

JACOB  JESSUROIT  was  never  knowr  to  be  generous  without  expecting  some 
reward.  Never  did  he  fling  out  a  sprat,  without  the  expectation  of  catch- 
inga.  salmon. 

What  object  had  he  in  view  in  thus  becoming  the  patron  and  protector 
of  the  young  Englishman — an  outcast  adventurer,  apparently  incapable 
of  making  him  any  return  ?  Why  such  liberal  conditions;  unasked,  and  to 
all  appearances  unmerited — for,  to  say  the  truth,  Herbert  Vaughan  was 
not  the  stuff  for  a  slave-driver,  a  term  almost  synonymous  with  that  of 
book-keeper. 

No  doubt  the  Jew  had  some  deep  scheme  ;  but  in  this,  as  in  most  other 
matters,  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself.  Even  his  "  precious  Shoodith" 
was  but  half  initiated  into  his  designs  upon  this  special  subject :  though 
a  conversation,  which  occurred  between  father  and  daughter,  had  placed 
before  the  latter  some  data  calculated  to  assist  her  in  guessing  at  them. 

The  date  of  this  dialogue  was  upon  the  morning  after  Herbert's  arrival 
at  the  penn ;  and  it  referred  chiefly  to  the  treatment  which  the  new  book- 
keeper was  to  receive  from  the  denizens  of  the  Happy  Valley,  but  more 
particularly  at  the  hands  of  Judith  herself. 

"  Show  the  young  man  every  kindness,  Shoodith  dear !  Don't  shpare 
pains  to  please  him." 

"  Why  particularly  him,  my  worthy  parent  ?" 

"  Hush !  mine  Shoodith  1  Shpeak  low,  for  the  luf  of  Gott  I  Don't  let 
him  hear  you  talk  in  that  shtyle.  Theesh  young  Englishmen  are  not  ushed 
to  our  free  ways.  I  hash  a  reason  for  being  friendly  to  him." 

"  What !  because  he  is  the  nephew  of  Vanity  Vaughan  ?  Is  that  your 
teason,  rabbi?" 

"  I  shay,  shpeak  low  1  He's  in  his  shleeping  room,  and  may  hear  ush. 
JL  single  word  like  that  you  shay  might  shpoil  all  my  plans." 

"  Well,  father,  I'll  talk  ic  whispers,  if  you  like.  But  what  are  your 
plans  ?  You'll  let  mt  know  them,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  will,  Shoodith,  but  not  shoos  now.  I  hash  an  idea,  mine  daughter 
— «  grand  idea,  it  ish !  And  if  all  goes  right,  you,  Shoodith,  will  be  tiie 
richest  woman  in  Shamaica." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  objection  to  that — to  be  the  richest  woman  in  Jamaica, 
with  a  prince  for  my  footman  I  Who  won't  envy  Judith  Jessuron,  the 
daughter  of  the  slave-merchant  ?" 

44  Shtay !  a  word  about  that,  Shoodith  dew.  In  hiflh  presence  we  musht 
•ay  M  little  ash  possible  upon  the  subject  of  shlaves.  He  musht  see  no 


122  A   PLOTTING   PARBKT. 

•hlave-wii.'pping  here — at  least  till  he  comes  uslied  to  it.  Rjuener  nmshi 
be  told  to  behave  himself.  I  knowsh  of  more  than  one  young  English- 
mans  who  left  hish  place  joosh  for  that  thing.  He  needn't  go  among  the 
field  handsh  at  all.  I'll  take  care  of  that.  But,  dear  Shoodith  1  every 
thing  depends  on  you  ;  and  I  knowsh  you  can,  if  you  will." 

"  Can  what,  worthy  father  ?" 

"  Make  this  young  fellow  satishfied  to  shtay  with  ush." 

Tbe  look  which  accompanied  these  words  betokened  some  other  meo& 
j  ing  than  what  they  might  have  literally  conveyed. 

"  Well,"  replied  Judith,  affecting  to  understand  them  literally,  "  I  fancj 
there  will  not  be  much  difficulty  about  that.  If  he's  as  poor  as  you  say, 
he'll  only  be  too  well  pleased  to  get  a  good  situation,  and  keep  it,  too,  I 
Bhould  think." 

"  Fsh  not  so  sure  about  that.  He'sh  a  young  man  of  a  proud  shpirit 
That  ish  proved  by  hish  leaving  his  uncle  ash  he  has  done — without  a  shil 
ling  in  hish  pocket — and  then  to  defy  the  cushtos  faysh  to  faysh  !  Blesh 
my  soul  I  'what  a  foolish  young  fellow  he  ish !  He  must  be  managed, 
Shoodith,  dear — he  must  be  managed;  and  you're  shoost  the  girl  to 
do  it." 

"  Why,  father,  to  hear  you  talk,  one  would  think  that  this  poor  young 
Englishman  was  a  rich  sugar  estate — to  be  managed  for  some  grand 
profit " 

"  Aha !"  exclaimed  the  other,  interrupting  her  ;  "  maybe  yesh — maybe 
he  ish  a  rich  sugar  estate.  We  shee — we  shee." 

"  Now,  had  it  been  the  grand  guest  of  Mount  Welcome,"  continued 
Judith,  without  heeding  the  interruption  ;  "had  it  been  this  lord  of  Mon- 
tagu Castle  that  you  wished  me  to  manage" — at  the  word  the  Jewess 
smiled  significantly — "  I  might  have  come  nearer  comprehending  you." 

"  Ah  !  there  is  no  schance  there — no  schance  whatever,  Shoodith." 

"  No  chance  of  what  ?"  abruptly  inquired  the  Jewess. 

"  Why,  no  schance  of — that  ish " 

"  Come,  worthy  rabbi,  speak  out !  You  needn't  be  afraid  to  tell  me 
what  you're  thinking  :  for  I  know  it  already." 

"  What  wash  I  thinking,  Shoodith  ?'' 

The  father  put  this  question  rather  with  a  view  to  escape  from  an  ex- 
planation. The  daughter  instantaneously  answered. 

"  You  were  thinking,  and  I  suppose  still  are,  that  I — your  daughter,  &e 
child  of  an  old  nigger-dealer  as  you  arc — would  have  no  chance  with  this 
aristocratic  stranger  who  has  arrrived — this  Mr.  Montagu  Syinthje.  That's 
your  thought,  Jacob  Jessuron  ?" 

"  Well,  Shoodith,  dear !  you  know  he  ish  to  be  the  guesht  of  the 
cushtos  ;  and  the  cushtos,  ash  I  hash  reason  to  know,  hash  an  eye  to  him 
for  hish  own  daughter.  Mish  Vochan  is  thought  a  great  belle,  and  il 
would  be  no  ushe  for  ush  to  ashpire ' 

"  She  a  belle  1"  exclaimed  the  Jewess,  with  a  proud  toss  of  her  head, 
and  a  slight  upturning  of  her  beautiful  spiral  nostril ;  "  She  was  not  tho 
belle  of  the  last  ball  at  the  Bay — not  she,  indeed  ;  and  as  for  aspiring,  the 
daughter  of  a  slave-dealer  is  at  least  equal  to  the  daughter  of  a  slave — • 
herself,  as  I've  heard  you  sav." 


PAftENf.  123 

"  Hush,  Shoodith  1  not  a  word  about  that — not  a  whisper  in  the  hearing 
of  thish  young  man.  You  know  he  ish  her  cousin.  Hush !" 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  was  her  brother,"  rejoined  the  Jewess,  still  speak- 
ing in  a  tone  of  spiteful  indignation — for  Kate  Vaughan's  beauty  was 
Judith  Jessuron's  especial  fiend  ;  "  and  if  he  were  her  brother,"  continued 
she,  "  I'd  treat  him  worse  than  I  intend  to  do.  Fortunate  for  him,  he's 
only  her  cousin  ;  and  as  he  has  quarrelled  with  them  all,  I  suppose — has 
he  said  anything  of  ~h.tr  ?" 

"  Of  hish  cousin  Kate,  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  who  should  I  mean  1"  demanded  the  daughter,  bluntly.    "  Thei '  r 
is  no  other  she  in  Mount  Welcome  the  young  fellow  is  likely  to  bo  talk  * 
ing  about ;  nor  you  either — unless,  indeed,  you've  still  got  that  copper 
coloured  wench  in  your  head.     Of  course,  it's  Kate  Va'ighan  I   mean. 
What  says  he  of  her  ?    He  must  have  seen  her — shor;  as  his  vxsil  seems 
to  have  been  ;  and,  if  so,  you  must  have  talked  about  her  last  night — 
since  you  sat  late  enough  to  have  discussed  the  whole  scandal  of  the 
island.     Well  ?" 

With  all  this  freedom  of  verbiage,  the  Jewess  seemed  not  to  loose  sight 
of  the  original  interrogatory  ;  and  her  frequent  repetition  of  it  was 
rather  intended  to  conceal  the  interest  with  which  she  looked  for  the  ans- 
wer. If  her  words  did  not  betray  that  interest,  her  looks  certainly  did  : 
for,  as  she  bent  forward  to  listen,  a  skilled  observer  might  have  detected 
in  her  eyes  that  sort  of  solitude  which  springs  from  a  heart  whence  the 
love  passion  is  just  beginning  to  appear — budded  but  not  yet  blooming. 

"  True,  Shoodith,  true,"  admitted  the  slave  merchant,  thus  bantered  by 
his  own  bold  offspring.  "  The  young  man  did  shpeak  of  hish  cousin ;  for 
1  hash  a  wish  to  know  what  wash  hish  opinion  of  her,  and  ashked  him. 
I  wash  in  hopes  he  had  quarrelled  with  her  too  ;  but  ach  no — he  hashn'L 
he  hashn't." 

"  What  might  that  signify  to  you  ?" 

"  Moch  moch,  daughter  Shoodith  ;  a  great  deal." 

"  You're  a  mysterious  old  man,  father  Jacob ;  and,  though  I've  been 
studying  you  for  a  score  of  years,  I  don't  half  understand  you  yet  But 
what  did  he  say  of  Kate  Vaughan  ?  He  saw  her,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yesh.  He  had  an  interview  with  hish  cousin.  He  saysh  she  be- 
haved very  kind  to  him.  He'sh  not  angry  with  her.  S'help  me,  no  !" 

This  information  appeared  to  produce  no  very  pleasant  impression  upon 
the  Jewess ;  who,  with  her  eyes  downcast  upon  the  floor,  remained  for 
some  moments  in  a  thoughtful  attitude. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  half  serious,  half  in  simplicity, "  theyoun^ 
fellow  has  got  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon  in  his  button-hole.  You  have  noticed 
it,  I  suppose  ?  I  am  curious  to  know  what  he  means  by  wearing  that.  If 
it  an  order,  or  what  ?  Did  he  tell  you  ?" 

"  No.  I  noticed  it ;  but,  ash  he  shayed  nothing  about  it,  I  did  not  ashk 
him.  It'sh  no  order — nothing  of  the  kind.  Hiih  father  wash  only  a  poor 
artisht." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  procured  that  piece  of  ribbon  ?"  said  Judith, 
speaking  in  a  low  tone,  and  half  m  soliloquy. 

"  You  can  ashk  him  for  yourself,  9hoodith.  There  ish  no  harm  in  that," 

"  No,  not  I,"  answered  Judith,  suddenly  changing  countenance,  as  if 


124  Atfofrtrtft  OP  Tits  SAME. 

ashamed  of  having  shown  the  weakness  of  curiosity.    "  What  care  I  for 
him  or  his  ribbon  ?" 

"  No  matter  for  that,  Shoodith,  dear  ;  no  matter  for  that,  if  yoush  can 
make  him  care  for  you" 

"Care  for  me!  What,  father  1  do  you  want  him  to  fall  in  love  with 
me?" 

"  Joosh  that— joosh  so." 

"  For  what  reason,  pray?" 

*  "  Don't  ashk  now.  I  hash  a  purpose,  you  shall  know  it  in  good  time, 
Shoodith.  You  make  him  in  luff  with  you — over  head  and  earsh,  if  you 
like." 

The  counsel  did  not  appear  displeasing  to  her  who  received  it.  Any- 
thing but  displeasure  was  in  her  looks  as  she  listened  to  it. 

"  But  what,"  asked  she,  after  a  reflective  pause,  and  laughing  as  she 
spoke,  "  what  if,  in  luring  him,  I  should  myself  fall  into  the  lure  ?  They 
gay  that  the  tarantula  is  sometimes  taken  in  its  own  trap  ?" 

"  If  you  succeed  in  catching  your  fly  mine  goot  shpider  Shoodith,  that 
won't  signify.  So  much  the  better  ish  that.  But  fusht  catch  your  fly. 
Don't  let  go  the  shtrings  of  your  heart,  till  you  hash  secured  hish  ; 
and  then  you  may  do  as  you  pleash.  But  hush!  I  hear  him  com- 
ing from  hish  shamber.  I  musht  go  and  bring  him  in  to  hish 
breakfasht.  Now,  Shoodith  dear,  show  him  every  reshpect.  Shower  on 
him  your  sweetest  of  shmiles  1" 

And  terminating  the  dialogue  with  this  parental  injunction,  Jacob  Jes- 
suron  walked  off  to  conduct  his  guest  into  the  great  hall. 

"  Ah !  worthy  father  I"  said  Judith,  looking  after  him  with  a  singular 
smile  upon  her  countenance  "  for  once  you  may  find  a  dutiful  daughter  ; 
though  not  for  you  or  your  purpose — whatever  that  may  be.  I  have  my 
suspicion  of  what  it  is.  No,  not  for  that  either — grand  destiny  as  it  may 
be  deemed.  There  is  something  grander  still — a  passion  perilous  to  play 
with  ;  and  just  for  that  peril  shall  I  play  with  it  Ha — he  comes  1  How 
proud  his  step  1  He  looks  the  master,  and  you,  old  Israelite,  his  overseer 
— his  book-keeper — ha !  ha !  ha  1 

"  Ach  !"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  checking  her  laughter,  and  changing 
her  smile  to  a  frown  ;  "  the  ribbon !  he  wears  it  still  1  What  can  it  mean  t 
Jo  matter  now  I  Ere  long  I  shall  unravel  the  skein  of  itg  silken  mystery 
-  -even  if  this  heart  should  be  torn  in  the  attempt  1" 


CHAPTER   XL. 

ANOTHER  OF  THE  SAMH. 

AT  that  same  hour,  a  scene  of  remarkable  parallelism  was  passing  at 
Mount  Welcome.  Loftus  Vaughan  was  holding  dialogue  with  his  daugh- 
ter, as  Jacob  Jessuron  with  Judith — the  subject  very  similar,  the  motives 
of  planter  and  penn-keeper  equally  mean 

Smythje  was  still  abed.  In  his"dwea  metwopolis,"  matutinal  heuri 
he  had  never  known  ;  and  probably,  in  all  his  life,  had  never  looked  upon 
the  rising  of  the  sun.  The  ordinary  hour  of  a  Jamaica  '  dejeuner'  would 


ANOTHER   OF  THE  SAMS. 

have  been  far  too  early  for  him  ;  so,  knowing  his  habits,  the  courteous 
custos  had  ordered  each  morning  the  postponement  of  the  meal — till  hia 
guest  should  give  some  signs  of  restored  wakefulness.  No  one  was  per- 
mitted to  disturb  either  his  dreams  or  his  slumbers,  till  Morpheus  had 
made  a  voluntary  exit  from  his  chamber ;  and  then  his  valet,  Thorns,  who 
had  charge  of  the  important  vigil,  would  enter,  and  return  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  his  master  would  presently  show  himself. 

On  this,  the  second  morning  after  his  arrival,  the  cockney  was  lying 
late  as  usual.  The  planter  and  Kate  had  paid  their  tribute  to  the  skies 
several  hours  before.  Both  had  been  abroad — though  on  different  errands 
— and  had  now  met  in  the  great  hall,  at  the  hour  at  which  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  have  breakfast.  No  breakfast  appeared  upon  the  table, 
although  the  cloth  was  laid  in  readiness.  None  must  appear  until  the  dis- 
tinguished guest  should  condescend — not  to  come  down,  since  his  cham- 
ber was  on  the  same  floor — but  to  come  out.  As  for  the  young  Creole,  sho 
cared  little  about  the  change  of  hours  for  the  morning  or  any  other  meal. 
She  was  too  young  to  have  contracted  habits  that  called  for  indulgence. 
With  Mr.  Vaughan  the  thing  was  different,  and  he  found  the  postpone- 
ment of  his  breakfast  a  somewhat  serious  inconvenience.  In  order  to  re- 
medy it,  in  some  measure  at  least,  he  had  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
biscuit,  with  which  he  was  breaking  his  fast,  when  Kate  entered  the 
room.  Occasional  glances,  half  expectant,  half  anxious,  which  he  had 
cast  along  the  corridor — the  direction  in  which  Kate  must  come — beto- 
kened some  purpose :  either  that  he  expected  a  communication,  or  had 
one  io  make.  The  latter  was  the  more  likely,  as  the  young  Creole,  on 
entering,  manifested  herself  in  an  interrogative  manner. 

•  You  have  sent  for  me,  papa  ?    Breakfast  is  not  yet  ready  ?" 

"  No,  Catherine,"  replied  Mr.  Vaughan,  gravely, "  it  is  not  for  that." 

The  grave  tone  was  not  needed.  The  "  Catherine"  was  enough  to  tell 
Kate  that  her  father  was  in  one  of  his  serious  moods :  for  it  was  only 
when  in  this  vein  that  he  ever  pronounced  her  baptismal  name  in  full. 

"  Sit  down  there !"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  faisteul  in  front  of  where  he 
was  himself  seated.  "  Sit  down,  my  daughter,  and  listen :  I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say  to  you." 

The  young  lady  obeyed  in  silence,  and  not  without  a  little  of  that  re- 
luctant gaudurie"  which  patients  display  when  seating  themselves  in  front 
of  a  physician ;  or  a  naughty  child  composing  itself  to  listen  to  the  parent- 
tal  lecture. 

The  natural  gaiety  of  "  lilly  Quasheba"  was  not  easily  restrained  ;  and 
though  the  unusual  gravity  depicted  in  her  father's  face  might  have 
checked  it,  the  formality  with  which  he  was  initiating  the  interview  had 
an  opposite  effect.  At  the  two  corners  of  her  pretty  mouth  might  have 
been  observed  a  strong  tendency  towards  a  smile. 

Her  father  did  observe  this  ;  but,  instead  of  reciprocating  the  smile,  he 
returned  it  by  a  frown. 

u  Come,  Catherine  I"  said  he,  reprovingly, "  I  have  called  you  out  to 
felk  3ver  a  serious  matter.  I  expect  you  to  listen  seriously,  as  becomes 
the  subject  I  am  about  to  introduce." 

"  Oh !  papa ;  how  can  I  be  serious  till  I  know  the  subject  T  You  arc 
tot  ill,  I  hope  ?" 


126  ANOTHER   OF   THE   SAME. 

"Tut  •( — no.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  health — which,  thank 
Providence,  is  good  enough — nor  yours  neither.  It  is  our  wealth,  not  oui 
aealth,  that  is  concerned — our  wealth,  Catherine !" 

The  last  phrase  was  spoken  with  emphasis,  and  in  a  confidential  way, 
IB  if  to  enlist  his  daughter's  sympathies  upon  the  subject. 

'  Our  wealth,  papa  1  I  hopo  nothing  has  happened  ?  You  have  had 
nc  losses  ?" 

"  No,  love,"  replied  Mr.  Vaughan,  now  speaking  in  a  fond,  parenta, 
i  tone  ;  "  nothing  of  the  gort,  thanks  to  fortune,  and  perhaps  a  little  to  my 
\  >wn  prudence.     It  is  net  losses  I  am  thinking  about,  but  gains.** 
J     "  Gains  1" 

"Aye,  gains,  you  little  rogue!  gains  which  you  can.  assist  me  in  ob- 
taining." 

"  I,  papa  ?  How  could  I  assist  you  ?  I  know  nothing  of  business — I 
am  sure  I  know  nothing." 

"Business!  ha!  ha!  It's  not  business,  Kate.  The  part  which  yon 
will  have  to  play  \rill  be  one  of  pleasure — I  hope  so,  at  least." 

"  Pray  tell  me  what  it  is,  papa  1  I  am  sure  I'm  fond  of  pleasure.  Every- 
body knows  that." 

"  Catherine  1"  said  her  father,  once  more  adopting  the  grave  tone,  "  do 
you  know  how  old  you  are  ?" 

"  Certainly,  papa  I  at  least,  what  I  have  been  told.  Eighteen — just  past 
last  birthday." 

"  And  do  you  know  what  young  girls  should,  and  generally  do,  think 
about,  when  they  come  to  be  of  that  age  ?" 

Kate  either  affected  or  felt  profound  ignorance  of  the  answer  she  wag 
expected  to  make. 

"  Come  I"  said  Mr.  Vaughan,  banteringly,  "you  know  what  I  mean, 
Catherine  ?" 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  do  not.  You  know  I  keep  no  secrets  from  you :  you 
taught  me  not.  If  I  had  any,  I  would  tell  you." 

"  I  know  you're  a  good  girl,  Kate.  I  know  you  would.  But  that  is  a 
sort  of  a  secret  I  should  hardly  expect  you  to  declare — even  to  me,  your 
father." 

"  Pray  what  is  it,  papa  ?" 

"  Why,  at  your  age,  Kate,  most  girls — and  it  is  but  right  and  natural 
N  they  should — take  to  thinking  about  a  young  man." 

"  Oh !  that  is  what  you  mean  t  Then  I  can  answer  you,  papa,  I  haw 
taken  to  thinking  about  one." 

"  Ha  I"  ejaculated  Mr.  Vaughan,  in  a  tone  of  pleased  surprise ;  "  you 
have,  have  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Kate,  with  an  air  of  most  innocent  'naivete 
"  I  have  been  thinking  of  one — and  so  much,  that  he  is  scarce  ever  out 
of  my  mind." 

"Hoi"  said  the  custos,  repeating  his  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
rather  taken  aback  by  a  confession  so  unexpectedly  candid,  "  Since  how 
long  has  this  been,  my  child  ?" 

The  answer  was  listened  for  witli  some  anxiety. 

"Since  how  long?"  rejoined  Kate,  muyingly. 

"  Yes.    When  did  YOU  first  begin  to  think  of  this  young  man  t" 


ANOTHER   OF   THE   SAMB.  127 

"Oh!  the  day  before  yesterday,  after  dinner — ever  since  I  first  saw 
trim,  father." 

"  At  dinner  you  first  saw  him,"  said  Mr.  Yaugliati,  correcting  his 
daughter.  "  But  no  matter  for  that,"  he  continued,  gleefully  rubbing  his 
hands  together,  and  not  noticing  the  puzzled  expression  upon  Kate's 
countenance.  "  It  might  be,  that  you  did  not  think  of  him  in  the  firsi 
moment  of  your  introduction.  It's  not  often  people  do.  A  little  bash- 
fulness  has  to  be  got  over.  And  so,  then,  Kate,  you  like  him  now — y;«i 
I  think  you  like  him  now  ?" 

"  Oh !  father,  you  may  be  sure  I  do — better  than  any  one  I  ever  saw— 
excepting  yourself,  dear  papa." 

"  Ah  !  my  little  chit,  that's  a  different  sort  of  liking — altogether  differ- 
ent. The  one's  love — the  other  is  but  fillial  affection — each  very  well  in 
its  place.  Now,  as  you're  a  good  girl,  Kate,  I  have  a  bit  cf  pleasant  news 
for  you." 

"What  is  it,  papa?" 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  should  tell  you  or  not,"  said  the  custos,  play- 
fully patting  his  daughter  upon  the  cheek  ; "  at  least,  not  now,  I  think.  It 
might  make  you  too  happy." 

"  Oh !  papa  !  I  have  told  you  what  you  wished  me  ;  and  I  see  it  has 
made  you  happy.  Surely  you  will  not  conceal  what  you  say  will  do  the 
same  for  me  ?  What  is  the  news  ?" 

"  Listen,  then,  Kate  1"  and  Mr.  Vaughan  bending  forward,  as  if  to  make 
his  communication  more  impressive,  pronounced  in  a  whisper,  "  He  reci- 
procates your  feeling — he  likes  you  /" 

"  Father,  I  fear  he  does  not,"  said  the  young  Creole,  with  a  serious  air. 

"  He  does — I  tell  you  so,  girl.  He's  over  head  and  ears  about  you.  I 
know  it.  In  fact,  I  saw  it  from  the  first  minute.  A  blind  man  might  have 
perceived  it ;  but  then  a  blind  man  can  see  better  than  a  young  lady  that's 
in  love.  Ha !  ha!  ha  1" 

Loftus  Vaughan  laughed  long  and  loudly  at  the  jest  he  had  so  unex- 
pectedly perpetrated :  for  at  that  moment  he  was  in  the  very  mood  for 
merriment.  His  dearest  dream  was  about  to  be  realised.  Montagu 
Smythje  was  in  love  with  his  daughter.  That  he  knew  before.  Now  his 
daughter  had  more  than  half  admitted — in  fact,  quite  confessed — that  shd 
liked  Smythje  ;  and  what  was  liking  but  love?" 

"  Yes,  Kate,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  his  exultation  had  to  some  extent  sub- 
sided, "  you  are  blind,  you  little  silly — else  you  might  have  seen  it  all.  Hi« 
behaviour  would  show  how  much  he  cares  for  you." 

"  Ah !  father,  I  think  that  his  behaviour  would  rather  show  that  he 
cares  nat  for  either  of  us.  He  is  too  proud  to  care  for  any  one." 

"  What  1  too  proud  ?  Nonsense  !  it's  only  his  way.  Surely  he  has  not 
•hown  anything  of  that  to  you,  Kate  ?" 

"  I  cannot  blame  him,"  continued  the  young  girl,  still  speaking  in  a 
serious  tone.  "  The  fault  was  not  his.  Your  treatment  of  him,  father — 
you  must  not  bo  angry  at  me  for  telling  you  of  it — now  that  I  know  all, 
dear  papa — was  it  not  enough  to  make  him  act  as  he  has  done  ?" 

"  My  treatment  of  him  1"  cried  the  custos,  with  a  self-justifying  but 

Fuszled  look.     "  Why,  child,  you  rave  !     I  could  not  treat  him  better,  if 
wa»  to  try  ever  so.    I  have  done  e~\  ervthing  to  entertain  him,  and  make 


128  A  SWEETHEART  EXPECTED. 

him  feel  at  home  here.  As  to  what  he  has  done,  it's  all  nonsense  about 
his  pride :  at  least,  with  us  he  has  shown  nothing  of  the  kind.  On  tht 
contrary,  he  is  acting  admirably  throughout  the  whole  matter.  Certainly, 
no  man  could  behave  with  more  politeness  to  you  than  Mr.  Smythje  i« 
doing  ?" 

"Mr.  Smythje  I" 

The  entrance  of  this  gentleman  at  the  moment  prevented  Mr.  7aughan 
from  nDticing  the  effect  which  the  mention  of  his  name  had  produced: 
an  unexpected  effect,  as  might  have  been  seen  by  the  expression  which 
Kate's  features  had  suddenly  assumed.  * 

But  for  that  interruption — hindering  the  "  eclaircissement*  which,  nc"  \ 
doubt,  his  daughter  would  on  the  instant  have  made — Mr.  Vaughau 
might  have  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  his  appetite  considerably  im 
paired. 

Hie  guest  requiring  all  his  attention  caused  him  to  withdraw  suddenly 
from  the  dialogue  ;  and  he  appeared  neither  to  have  heard  the  exclama- 
tory repetition  of  Smythje's  name,  nor  the  words  uttered  by  Kate  in  a 
lower  tone,  as  she  turned  towards  the  table : — 

"  I  thought  it  was  Herbert .'" 


CHAPTER  XU. 

A    SWEHTIIBART    BXPBOT1D. 

THE  departure  of  the  young  Englishman,  under  the  conduct  of  Quaoo, 
was  a  signal  for  the  black  band  to  disperse.  At  a  sign  from  their  chief, 
they  broke  up  into  knots  of  two  or  three  individuals  each,  and  went  off 
in  different  directions — disappearing  amid  the  underwood  as  silently  as 
they  had  emerged  from  it. 

Cubina  alono  remained  in  the  glade,  the  captured  runaway  cowering 
upon  a  log  beside  him.  For  some  minutes  the  Maroon  captain  stood 
resting  upon  his  gun — which  one  of  his  followers  had  brought  up— his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  captive.  He  appeared  to  be  meditating  what  course 
he  should  pursue  in  relation  to  the  unfortunate  slave ;  and  the  shadow 
»pon  his  countenance  told  that  some  thought  was  troubling  him. 

The  runaway  on  his  side  was  regarding  his  captor  with  a  look  ha]f  t 
cheerful,  hajf  apprehensive;  or  rather,  with  these  expressions  altcrnat  jL 
ing,  as  he  observed  similar  changes  on  the  countenance  of  the  other.  His 
hopes,  however,  outweighed  his  fears.  Though  unable  to  comprehend 
what  had  occurred,  and  ignorant  of  the  motives  of  the  Maroon  in  rescu- 
ing him  from  his  pursuers,  he  knew  that  he  had  escaped  from  merciless 
men,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  others  that  appeared  not  only  merciful,  but 
friendly.  Had  he  known  that  just  then  his  captor  was  debating  with 
himself,  as  to  whether  he  should  deliver  him  up,  and  to  the  very  men 
from  whom  he  had  rescued  him,  or  their  equally  merciless  master— could 
he  have  conjectured  that  this  was  the  subject  of  that  silent  cogitation,  ol 
which  he  was  a  witness,  Ms  apprehensions  would  have  been  stronger 
his  hopes, 


A   SWEETHEART   EXPECTED. 

The  Maroon  captain  felt  himself  in  a  dilemma :  hence  his  hesitating 
and  reflective  attitude.  His  duty  was  in  conflict  with  his  desires. 
From  the  first  the  face  of  the  captive  had  interested  him  ;  and  now  that 
he  had  time  to  scan  it  more  narrowly,  and  observe  its  noble  features,  tho 
idea  of  delivering  him  up  to  such  a  cruel  master,  as  him  whose  initials 
):e  bore  upon  his  breast,  became  all  the  more  repugnant.  Duty  demand- 
ed him  to  do  so.  It  was  the  law  of  the  land — of  the  treaty  by  which  th« 
Maroons  were  bound — and  disobedience  to  that  law  would  be  certain  to 
meet  with  punishment  stringent  and  severe.  True,  there  was  a  time 
when  a  Maroon  captain  would  have  held  obedience  to  this  law  more 
lightly ;  but  that  was  before  the  conquest  of  Trelawny  town — or,  rather 
its  traitorous  betrayal — followed  by  the  basest  banishment  recorded 
among  men. 

That  betrayal  had  brought  about  a  change.  The  Maroons  who  had 
avoided  the  forced  exile,  and  still  remained  in  the  mountain  fastnesses, 
though  preserving  their  independence,  were  no  longer  a  powerful  people 
— only  a  mere  remnant,  whose  weakness  rendered  them  amenable,  not 
only  to  the  laws  of  the  island,  but  to  the  tyranny  and  caprice  of  such 
planter  justices  as  might  chooae  to  persecute  them.  Such  was  the  posi- 
tion of  Cubina  and  his  little  band,  who  had  established  their  home  in 
the  mountains  of  Trelawney.  With  the  Maroon  captain,  therefore,  it 
was  jt  necessity,  as  well  as  a  duty,  to  deliver  up  the  runaway  captive. 
Failing  to  do  so,  he  would  place  his  liberty  in  peril.  He  knew  this, 
without  the  threat  which  Havener  had  fulminated  in  such  positive  terms. 
His  interest  also  lay  in  the  line  of  his  duty.  This  also  he  could  under- 
stand. The  captive  was  a  prize,  for  which  he  would  be  entitled  to  claim 
a  reward — the  bounty.  Not  for  a  moment  was  he  detained  by  this  last 
consideration.  The  prospcet  of  the  reward  would  have  had  no  weight 
with  him  whatever ;  it  would  not  even  have  cost  him  a  reflection,  but 
that,  just  then,  and  for  a  very  singular  purpose,  Cubina  required  money. 

Thus,  there  were  three  powerful  motives  in  favour  of  restoring  the 
slave  to  his  master — duty,  necessity,  and  self-interest.  But  one  nobler 
than  all  was  stirring  within  the  breast  of  the  yellow  hunter — humanity. 
Would  it  prevail  over  the  other  three  ? 

Some  words  he  had  let  drop  before  the  departure  of  Herbert — a  hypo- 
thetical threat  of  disobedience  to  the  laws— might  lead  to  the  hope  that 
it  would. 

As  he  stood  gazing  upon  his  captive,  this  threat  was  repeated  in  a 
kind  of  involuntary  soliloquy,  while  another  motive  was  revealed  by  an 
additional  phrase  or  two  that  escaped  from  his  lips. 

"  Crawbo  /"  he  muttered,  using  an  exclamation  of  the  Spanish  tongue, 
utill  found  in  a  corrupted  form  among  the  Maroons  ;  "  he  is  as  like  to 
Tola  as  if  he  was  her  brother  1  I  warrant  he's  of  the  same  nation — per- 
haps of  her  tribe.  Two  or  three  times  he  has  used  the  word  Foolah. 
Besides,  his  colour,  his  shape,  his  hair,  are  all  like  hers.  No  doubt  of  it, 
he's  Foolah." 

The  last  word  was  uttered  so  loudly  as  to  reach  the  ear  of  the  run- 
away. 

f/  Yah  I  Foolah,  Foolah !"  he  exclaimed,  turning  his  eyes  appealing  upon 


130  A   SWEETHEART   EXPECTED. 

his  captor.    "  No  slave — no  slave  1"  added  he,  striking  his  hand  upon  bit 
brea«t  as  lie  repeated  the  words. 

"  Slave  !  JK>  slave  !"  echoed  the  Maroon,  with  a  start  of  surprise  ;  "  that's 
English  enough.  They've  taught  him  the  word.  No  slave  I  what  can  ha 
intend  by  saying  that  ?" 

"  Foolah  me — no  slave  I"  again  extAiimed  the  youth,  with  a  similar  gea* 
ture  to  that  he  had  already  made. 

"  Something  curious  in  this  1"  muttered  the  Maroon,  musingly.  "  What 
can  he  mean  by  saying  he  is  no  slave — for  that  is  certainly  what  he  is 
trying  to  say  ?  Slave  he  must  be  :  else  how  did  he  get  here  ?  I've  heard 
that  a  cargo  was  landed  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  that  the  old  Jew 
got  most  or  all  of  them.  This  young  fellow  must  be  one  of  that  lot. 
Very  likely  he's  picked  up  the  word*  aboard  ship.  Perhaps  he  is  speak- 
ing of  what  he  was  in  his  own  country.  Ah  '  poor  devil !  he'll  soon  find 
the  difference  here. 

"  Crambo  /"  continued  the  Maroon,  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  had  been 
silently  regarding  the  countenance  of  the  newly-arrived  African.  "  It's  a 
shame  to  make  a  slave  of  such  as  he — an  hundred  times  more  like  a  free- 
man than  his  master.  Ah  1  Dios  !  Dios  !  it's  a  hard  row  ho'll  have  to  hoe. 
I  feel  more  than  half  tempted  to  risk  it,  and  save  him  from  such  & 
fate.  But  that  I  want  this  money " 

As  this  half  determination  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  Maroon,  it 
was  accompanied  by  a  noble  and  proud  expression  of  features. 

"  If  they  had  not  seen  him  in  my  possession,"  he  continued  to  reflect; 

1  but  the  overseer  and  those  Spanish  poltroons  know  all,  and  will 

Well,  let  them — at  all  events,  I  shall  not  take  him  back  till  I've  seen  Tola. 
No  doubt  she  can  talk  to  him  ;  if  he's  Foolah  she  can.  We'll  hear  whal 
he's  got  to  say,  and  what  this  '  no  slave'  means.  Ha !"  exclaimed  the 
speaker,  now  uttering  his  soliloquy  aloud,  and  glancing  upward  to  the 
sky,  "  the  time  has  been  passing.  What !  noon  ?  It  is  within  a  few  min 
utes.  Tola  should  soon  be  here.  Twelve  o'clock  was  her  hour.  Oh  !  1 
must  have  him  out  of  sight,  and  these  dead  dogs,  too,  or  my  timid  pei 
will  be  frayed.  There's  been  so  much  doing  about  here — blood  and 
burning  fires — she  will  scarce  know  the  old  trysting-place.  Hark,  you 
Foolah  !  Come  this  way,  and  squat  yourself  in  here,  till  I  call  you  out 
again." 

To  the  runaway  the  gestures  of  his  captor  were  more  intelligible  than 
his  words.  He  understood  by  them  that  he  was  required  to  conceal  him- 
self between  the  buttresses  of  the  ceiba ;  and,  rising  from  the  log,  he 
readily  obeyed  the  requisition. 

The  Maroon  captain  seized  the  tail  of  one  of  the  dead  bloodhounds : 
wad,  after  trailing  the  carcase  for  some  distance  across  the  glade,  flung  i» 
into  a  covert  of  bushes.  Returning  to  the  ceiba,  in  a  similar  manner  he 
removed  the  other  ;  and  then,  cautioning  the  runaway  to  remain  silent  in 
his  concealment,  he  awaited  the  approach  of  her  whose  assignation  had 
boen  fixed  for  Uie  hoiir  of  noon. 


A  tGTE  SCENE  UNDER  THE 


CHAPTER 

A   LOTS   SCENE   UNDER   THE   OEIBA. 

THE  iuver  who  is  beloved  need  never  fear  disappointment.  True  to  bet 
tryst,  and  punctual  to  the  time,  did  the  expected  sweetheart  make  her 
appearance  within  the  glade. 

With  shy  but  graceful  step,  she  advanced  towards  the  ceiba,  and  with 
sufficient  firmness  of  mein  to  show  that  she  came  not  in  doubt.  A  smile, 
confident  and  slightly  coquettish,  dancing  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  playing 
upon  her  prettily  curved  lips,  told  of  a  love  already  plighted — at  the 
same  time  betokening  free  faith  in  the  vows  that  had  been  exchanged. 

Cubina  stepped  forth  to  receive  her ;  and  the  lovers  met  in  the  open 
ground,  at  some  distance  from  the  tree.  Their  demeanour  at  meeting 
told  that  it  was  not  their  first  assignation,  but  that  ofttimes  before  had 
they  come  together  in  that  same  rendezvous. 

The  presence  of  the  runaway — not  seen,  however,  from  the  spot — did 
not  hinder  Cubina  from  saluting  his  sweetheart  with  a  kiss,  nor  prevent 
him  from  enfolding  her  for  a  moment  in  his  arms. 

That  spasm  of  exquisite  pleasure  passed,  the  dialogue  began. 

The  girl  spoke  first. 

"  Oh,  Cubina  1  news  I  have  tell." 

"Come,  my  love — what  news?  Ah  I  you  are  looking  grave,  Tola; 
your  news  are  not  very  joyful,  I  fear  ?" 

"  No,  no  joyful — bad  news." 

"  Let  me  hear  them,  love.  Something  Cynthy  has  been  saying  to  you. 
Ton  shouldn't  heed  what  that  girl  say." 

"  No,  Cubina,  I  no  care  what  her  mo  tell.  I  her  know,  wicked,  bad  girL 
Not  Cynthy  say  that  thing  me  trouble  now.  Miss  Kate  me  telL" 

*  Ah  I  something  Miss  Vaughan  has  told  you.  I  wouldn't  look  for  bad 
news  from  her.  But  what  is  it,  dear  Tola'  Maybe,  after  all,  it's  no- 
thing ?" 

"  Ah !  yes,  Cubina,  something.  1  fear  me  keep  from  you  long,  long 
time." 

"  Keep  you  from  me  ?  Surely  Miss  Yaughan  don't  object  to  yoiu  meek 
ing  me  ?" 

"  No — no!  that.    Something  I  fear  me  hinder  from  be " 

"  Be  what?"  inquired  the  lover,  seeing  that  his  sweetheart  hesitated  U» 
pronounce  some  word,  the  thought  of  which  was  causing  Irer  to  l.lu.sK. 
"Come,  dear  Tola,  don't  fear  to  tell  me!  You  know  we're  engaged. 
should  be.  &Q  8§c<ret  Between  us-  What  were  you  goiog  to  suy  ?" 


A  LOVE  SCENE  UNDER  THE  CEIBA* 

In  a  low,  murmured  voice,  ami  looking  lovingly  in  his  eyes  a§  she 
spoke,  the  girl  pronounced  the  word  "murry." 

"  Ho  1  ho !"  exclaimed  the  lover,  in  a  confident  tone.  *  I  think  nothing 
can  occur  to  hinder  that—at  least,  for  a  very  long  time,  I  have  now  near- 
ly a  hundred  pounds  laid  by,  and  a  lucky  capture  I've  just  made  this 
morning  will  help  still  further  to  make  up  that  sum.  Surely  the  custoe 
•will  not  require  more  than  a  hundred  pounds  ;  though  if  you  were  one* 
mine,"  continued  the  speaker,  casting  a  look  of  smiling  fondness  ipou 
his  sweetheart's  face,  "  all  the  money  in  the  world  wouldn't  tempt  me  tc 
part  with  you.  I  hope,"  added  he,  speaking  in  a  jocular  air,  "  a  hundred 
pounds  will  be  enough  to  make  you  my  slave?" 

"  You  slave,  Cubina  ?" 

"Yes,  Yola,  as  I  am  yours  now." 

"  Ah — that  way,  Yola  yours ;  yours  ever — evermore." 

"  I  will  believe  you,  dear  girl,"  rejoined  the  lover,  gazing,  with  a  grati- 
fied look,  in  the  face  of  his  beloved.  "  I  am  very  happy  to  think  that  in 
that  way  you  are  mine  ;  and  that  I  have,  as  you  assure  me,  your  heart  and 
eoul.  But,  dearest  Yola,  so  long  as  another  is  the  owner  of  ;your  body — 
not  with  the  right,  but  the  power  to  do,  aye,— indeed,  almost  as  he  might 
please — for  who  can  hinder  these  proud  planters  from  committing  crimes 
of  which  they  are  their  own  judges  ?  Ah  1  Yola,  girl,  it  is  fearful  to  re- 
flect on  their  wicked  doings.  This  very  morning  I  have  come  across  a 
sample  of  their  cruelty ;  and  when  I  think  of  you  being  in  the  power  of 
one,  it  makes  me  feel  as  if  every  hour  was  a  day  until  I  can  obtain  your 
freedom.  I  am  always  in  fear  lest  something  may  happen  to  hinder  mo. 

"  Just  to-day  I  am  in  high  hopes,"  continued  the  lover,  erincing  the 
truth  of  his  words  by  a  pleasant  smile.  "  I  have  succeeded  in  raising 
nearly  the  hundred  pounds  ;  and  the  bounty  I  expect  to  receive  for  the 
runaway  I  have  caught  will  make  it  quite  that" 

The  girl  returned  no  reply  to  this  speech  of  her  lover,  but  stood  gaz- 
ing upon  him  silently,  and  as  if  half  reproachfully.  Something  of  this 
kind  he  read,  or  fancied  he  read,  in  her  looks. 

~  "  What,  Yola,  you  are  not  satisfied  with  what  I  have  said  ?  Yon  re- 
proach me  ?  Ah  1  true.  I  confess  it  is  not  a  very  creditable  way  of  pro- 
curing your  purchase-money,  Maldito  ?  what  can  I  do  ?  We  Maroons 
have  no  other  way  of  raising  money,  except  by  hunting  the  wild  hogs, 
and  selling  their  barbecued  flesh.  But  that  barely  gives  us  a  living 
Crambo  !  I  could  never  have  got  together  a  hundred  pounds  in  that  way 
So  do  not  reproach  me,  dear  Yola,  for  what  I've  done,  I  assure  you  it 
goes  against  my  grain,  this  man-hunting  business.  As  for  the  young  fei  ' 
low  I  caught  this  morning,  I'd  risk  a  good  deal  rather  than  give  him  up-  - 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  your  freedom.  For  that  I  muM 
have  the  hundred  pounds,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  be  enough  to 
•atisfy  your  master." 

"  Ah,  Cubiua  1"  replied  his  slave-love,  with  a  sigh,  "  th»t  the  bad  news 
I  yon  bring.  Hundred  pound  no  massa  care.  Only  two  days  go,  he 
offer  twice  so  much  for  poor  slave  Yola." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  offered  for  you  /"  exclaimed  the  Maroon,  with  a 
atari  of  surprise,  his  brow  becoming  suddenly  clouded.  "  Is  that  what 
you  mean,  Yola?" 

"  Ah,  yes  1"  answered  the  slave;  repeating  aer  sad  sigh- 


A  LOVE   SCENE   UNDER   f  HE   CEtBA,  133 

"  And  who — who  is  he  ?"  demanded  the  lover,  in  a  quick,  earnest  tone, 
a  gleam  of  jealous  thought  flashing  from  his  dark  eyes,  like  forked  lightr 
ning  across  a  clouded  sky. 

He  knew  that  no  man  would  have  bid  two  hundred  pounds  for  a  slave 
— even  for  Tola — without  some  wicked  motive.  The  girl's  beauty,  com- 
bined with  the  extravagant  offer,  would  have  suggested  the  motive"  to  one 
disinterested  in  her  fate.  How  much  more  was  it  calculated  to  arouse 
the  suspicions  of  a  lover  1 

"  A  white  man  ?"  continued  he,  without  waiting  for  the  reply  to  hi§ 
first  question.  "  I  need  not  ask  that.  But  tell  me,  Tola,  who  is  he  that 
wants  so  badly  to  become  your  owner.  You  know,! suppose?" 

"  Missa  Kate  me  tell  all.  He  Jew — wicked  white  man  1  Same  who 
me  take  from  big  ship  ;  he  me  first  sell  Massa  Vaughan." 

"  Ha  !''  sharply  ejaculated  the  lover,  "  that  old  John  Crow  it  is.  Wicked 
white  man  you  may  well  call  him.  I  know  the  old  villain  well.  Crambo.' 
what  can  he  want  with  her  ?"  muttered  the  Maroon,  musingly,  but  with 
a  troubled  mien.  "  Some  vile  purpose,  to  a  certainty  ?  Oh,  sure!"  Then 
once  more  addressing  himself  to  his  slave  sweetheart — 

"  You  are  certain,  Yola,  the  old  Jew  made  this  offer  ?" 

"  So  me  say  Missa." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds !     And  Mr.  Vaughan  refused  it  ?" 

"  Missa  Kate  no  allow  Massa  Vaughan  me  sell.  She  say,  'Never !'  Ah ! 
young  mssa  1  she  good — bery,  bery  good  1  No  matter  what  money  he 
give,  she*,  never  let  wicked  white  man  take  Yola.  She  so  say  many 
time." 

"  Miss  Kate — true,  Yola.  She  is  good,  she  is  generous !  It  must  have 
been  her  doing,  else  the  custos  would  never  have  refused  such  a  tempt- 
ing offer.  Two  hundred  pounds  !  It  is  a  large  sum.  Well,  I  must  begin 
again.  I  must  work  night  and  day  to  get  it ;  and  then,  if  they  should  re- 
fuse me.  Ha  1  what  then  ?" 

The  speaker  paused,  not  as  if  expecting  a  reply  from  her  wbo  stood 
by  his  side,  but  rather  from  his  own  thoughts. 

"  Never  mind  1"  continued  he,  his  countenance  assuming  an  expression 
partly  hopeful,  partly  reckless.  "  Have  no  fear  of  the  future,  Yola. 
Worst  come  worst,  you  shall  yet  be  mine.  Aye,  dearest,  you  shall  share 
my  mountain  homo,  though  I  may  have  to  make  it  the  home  of  an  ouU 
law!" 

"  Oh  1"  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  slightly  frayed  by  the  wild  look  and 
words  of  her  lover,  her  eye  at  the  same  instant  falling  upon  the  red  pool 
where  the  hounds  had  been  slain.  "  Blood,  Cubina  ?" 

"  Only  that  of  some  animals — a  wild  boar  and  two  dogs—just  killed 
ihere.  Don't  let  that  frighten  you.  You  must  be  brave,  my  Yola :  since 
you  are  to  be  the  wife  of  a  Maroon  1  Ours  is  a  life  of  many  dangers." 

44  With  you  Yola  no  fear.  She  go  anywhere — far  over  the  mountain* 
— to  Jumbe  Rock — anywhere  you  tell  her  go,  Cubina." 

*•  Thanks,  dearest !  Maybe,  some  day,  we  may  be  forced  to  go  far  over 
the  mountains — in  JUght,  too,  Yola.  But  we  shall  try  to  avoid  that  If 
not,  then  yo*u  will  fly  with  me — will  you  not  1" 

"  What  Cubina  do,  Yola  do  same  ;  where  he  go,"*she  go." 

The  passionate  promise  was  sealed  by  a  kiss,  followed  by  an  inter 
f  al  of  sacred  silenoo. 


134  A  LOVE  SCENE  TTXDEtt  Imfi  OEIBA, 

"  Enough,  then  !"  said  the  lover,  after  the  pause  had  passed.  a  As  i 
last  resource,  we  can  do  that.  But  we  shall  hope  for  the  beet ;  aad, 
maybe,  some  good  fortune  may  befal. 

"  My  followers  are  true,  and  would  help  me  ;  but,  alas !  all  are  poor 
hunters  like  mj  self.  Well,  it  may  take  some  time  before  I  can  call  you 
my  own  fearlessly,  in  the  face  of  the  world — longer,  maybe,  than  I  ex- 

Eected.  Never  mind  for  that ;  we  can  meet  often.  And  now,  dear  Tola, 
sten  to  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you — listen,  and  keep  it  in  your  mind! 
If  ever  a  white  wretch  insults  you — you  know  what  I  mean  ? — if  you  are 
in  danger  of  such  a  thing,  as  you  would  have  been,  were  old  Jessuron  to 
become  your  master — aye,  and  who  knows  how,  where,  or  when  ? — well, 
then  fly  to  this  glade  and  wait  here  for  me.  If  I  do  not  come,  some  one 
will.  Every  day  I  shall  send  one  of  my  people  to  this  place.  Don't  fear 
to  run  away.  Though  I  may  not  care  to  get  into  trouble  about  a  com- 
mon slave,  I  shall  risk  all  to  protect  you — yes,  my  life,  dearest  Tola  i" 

"  Oh,  Cubina !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  in  passionate  admiration.  "  Oh, 
brave,  beauty  Cubina !  you  not  fear  danger  V 

"  There  is  no  areat  danger  in  it,"  returned  the  Maroon,  in  a  confident 
tone.  "  If  I  hacPmade  up  my  mind  to  run  away  with  you,  I  could  soon 
take  you  beyond  the  reach  of  pursuit.  In  the  Black  Grounds  we  could 
live  without  fear  of  the  tyranny  of  white  men.  But  I  don't  want  to  bo 
hunted  like  a  wild  hog.  I  would  rather  you  should  become  mine  by 
honest  means — that  is,  I  would  rather  buy  you,  as  I  intend  to  do  ;  and 
then  we  may  settle  down  near  the  plantations  and  live  without  fear. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  the  custos  may  not  be  so  hard  with  me  as  with  the  old 
Jew — who  knows  ?  Your  young  mistress  is  kind,  you  have  told  me :  she 
might  do  something  to  favour  our  plans." 

"  True,  Cubina — she  me  love ;  she  say  never  me  part." 

"  That  is  well :  she  means,  she  would  not  part  with  you  against  your 
will.  But  if  I  offer  to  buy  you,  it  would  be  a  different  thing.  Perhaps 
you  might  let  her  know  all,  by  and  by,  after  a  while  ;  but  I  have  some- 
thing to  learn  first,  and  I  don't  wish  you  to  tell  her  till  then.  So  keep  our 
secret,  dear  Tola,  for  a  little  longer.  And  now !"  continued  the  Maroon, 
changing  his  tone,  and  turning  towards  the  ceiba  as  he  spoke,  "  I've  got 
something  to  show  you.  Did  you  ever  see  a  runaway  ?" 

"  Runaway  1"  said  the  girl ;  "  no,  Cubina — never." 

"  Well,  my  love,  there's  one  not  far  off;  he  that  I  said  I  had  captured 
this  morning — only  a  little  while  ago.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  why  I've 
kept  him  here  :  because  I  fancied  that  he  was  like  yourself,  Yola."  t 

"  Like  me  I" 

"  Yes ;  and  that  is  why  I  felt  for  the  poor  fellow  something  like 
pity :  since  it  is  to  this  cruel  old  Jew  he  belongs.  From  what  I  can  make 
out,  ho  must  be  one  of  your  people  ;  and  I'm  curious  to  know  what  ac- 
count he  will  give  of  himself." 

"  He  Foolah,  you  think  ?"  inquired  the  African  maiden,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling with  pleasure  at  the  anticipation  of  seeing  one  of  her  own  race. 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  as  good  ae  sure  of  that.  In  fact,  he  has  called  himself  ft 
Foolah  several  times,  though  I  can't  make  out  what  he  says.  If  he  is  one 
of  your  tribe,  you  will  be  able  to  talk  to  him.  There  he  is  1"  * 

Cubina  had  by  this  time  conducted  his  sweetheart  round  the  tree,  le 
that  side  on  which  the  runaway  was  concealed  between  the  two  spurs. 


BMtTHJE  IN   SftOOTtNG  COSTUME.  135 

The  young  man  was  still  crouching  within  the  angle,  close  up  to  the 
trunk  of  the  ceiba.  The  moment  the  two  figures  came  in  front  of  him, 
and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  girl,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  uttering 
a  cry  of  wild  joy.  _ 

Like  an  echo,  Tola  repeated  the  cry  ;  and  then  pronouncing  some  hur- 
ried phrases  in  an  unknown  tongue,  rushed  together,  and  became  folded 
in  a  mu|ual  embrace  1 

Cubina  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot  Surprise — something  more — held 
him  speechless.  He  could  only  think  : — 

"  She  knows  him  I    Perhaps  her  lover  in  her  own  land  1" 

A  keen  pang  of  jealousy  accompanied  Ihe  thought. 

Rankling  it  remained  in  the  breast  of  the  Maroon,  till  Tola,  turning  from 
the  fond  embrace,  and  pointing  to  him  who  had  received  it,  pronounced 
the  tranquillising  words  : — 

"  My  brother/1' 


CHAPTER  XLIH.  : 

SMYTHJE  IN  SHOOTING  COSTUME. 

BKYBRAL  days  had  elapsed  since  that  on  which  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje 
became  the  guest  of  Loftus  Vaughan ;  and  during  the  time  neither  pains 
nor  expense  had  been  spared  in  his  entertainment.  Horses  were  kept 
for  his  riding — a  carriage  for  his  driving — dinners  had  been  got  up — and 
company  invited  to  meet  him.  The  best  society  of  the  Bay  and  the 
neighbouring  plantations  had  been  already  introduced  to  the  rich  English 
exquisite — the  owner  of  one  great  sugar  estate,  and — as  society  began  to 
hear  it  whispered — the  prospective  possessor  of  another. 

The  matrimonial  projects  of  the  worthy  custos — that  had  been  suspect- 
ed from  the  first — soon  became  the  subject  of  much  canvass  and  discufr* 
Bion. 

It  may  be  mentioned — though  it  is  scarce  necessary — that  in  his  designs 
upon  Smythje,  Mr.  Yaughan  was  not  left  all  the  field  to  himself.  There 
were  other  parente  in  the  planter  fraternity  of  the  neighbourhood  blessed 
with  good-looking  daughters ;  and  many  of  them,  both  fathers  and 
mothers,  had  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  lord  of  Montagu  Castle  as  a  very 
eligible  sample  for  a  son-in-law.  Each  of  these  aspiring  couples  gave  a 
grand  dinner  ;  and,  in  turn,  trotted  out  their  innocent  lambs  in  presence 
of  the  British  "  lion." 

The  exquisite  smiled  amiably  upon  all  their  efforts — adopting  his  dis- 
tinguished position  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Thus  merrily  passed  the  first  fortnight  of  Smythje's  sojourn  in  Jamaica. 

On  a  pleasant  morning  near  the  end  of  this  fortnight,  in  one  of  the 
largest  bed-chambers  of  Mount  Welcome  house — that  consecrated  to  the 
reception  of  distinguished  strangers — Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  might  have 
been  seen  in  front  of  his  mirror.  He  was  engaged  in  the  occupation  of 
dressing  himself,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  permitting  himself  to  ho 
dressed  by  his  valtt  di 


136  8MTTHJE   IN   SHOOTING  COSTUME. 

In  the  extensive  wardrobe  of  the  London  exquisite  there  were  dres* 
es  for  all  purposes  and  every  occasion :  suits  for  morning,  dinner,  and 
evening  ;  one  for  riding,  .and  one  for  driving ;  a  shooting  dress,  and  one 
for  the  nobler  sport  of  the  chase  ;  a  dress  for  boating, "  &  la  matelot ;"  and 
a  grand  costume  du  bal. 

On  the  occasion  in  question,  Mr.  Smythje's  august  person  was  being 
enveloped  in  his  shooting  dress  ;  and,  although  a  West  India  sportsman, 
>r  an  English  squire,  would  have  smiled  derisively  at  sttch  a  "  rig/'  the 
•ockney  regarded  it  with  complacency  as  being  "just  the  thing." 

Jt  consisted  of  a  French  tunic-shaped  coatee  of  green  silk  velvet,  trim- 
med with  fur ;  a  helmet-shaped  hunting  cap  to  match ;  and  a  purple 
waistcoat  underneath,  embroidered  with  cord  of  gold  bullion. 

Instead  of  breeches  and  top-boots,  Mr.  Sruythje  fancied  he  had  im- 
proved upon  the  costume  by  encasing  his  limbs  in  long  trousers.  These 
were  of  dressed  fawn  skin,  of  a  straw  colour,  and  soft  as  the  finest 
chamois  leather.  They  fitted  rather  tightly  around  the  legs,  notwith- 
standing that  the  wearer  was  rather  spindly  in  that  quarter.  Moreover, 
they  were  strapped  at  the  bottoms,  over  a  pair  of  brightly  shining  lac- 
quered boots — another  error  at  which  a  true  sportsman  would  have 
smiled. 

No  matter  for  that.  These  little  eccentric  innovations  on  the  shooting 
costume  of  the  time  were  designed  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Smythje :  who 
looked  upon  himself  as  by  right  a  fashionable  original — since  his  very 
handsome  fortune  enabled  him  to  set  the  style  among  a  limited  circle  of 
his  acquaintances  in  great  Cockneydom. 

Theoretically  considered,  the  dress  looked  well  enough.  Practically, 
it  would  have  suited  only  for  the  stage  of  a  theatre — whence,  no  doubt, 
the  idea  of  the  costume  had  been  taken. 

The  suit  had  never  seen  service  in  the  field ;  but  was  being  donned, 
for  the  first  time,  since  coming  from  the  fingers  of  the  tailor.  Not  a  stain 
tarnished  the  delicately  soft  fawn  skin  trousers — not  a  crease  could  be 
seen  in  the  smooth  nap  of  the  velvet  tunic.  Vest  and  all  were  new  and 
fresh,  as  just  drawn  out  of  a  band-box. 

The  object,  for  which  Mr.  Smythje  was  thus  having  his  person  ap- 
parelled, was  a  shooting  excursion  to  the  hills ;  which  he  designed  mak- 
ing in  order  to  vary  his  pleasures,  by  committing  havoc  among  tho 
ramier  pigeons  and  wild  guinea  fowl  which,  he  had  been  told,  abounded 
there.  To  show  himself  in  his  splendid  snooting  costume  was  another 
motive,  perhaps,  of  equal  moment ;  but  this  was  known  only  to  his  valet 
— a  personage  too  accomplished  to  disclose  the  fact,  that  in  his  eyes  his 
master  had  long  ceased  to  be  a  hero. 

The  projected  expedition  was  not  any  grand  affair  by  appointment — 
merely  an  ordinary,  improvised  thing.  The  sportsman  intended  going 
alone — as  the  custos  on  that  day  had  some  important  business  at  the 
Bay ;  and  Mr.  Smythje,  by  a  ramble  through  the  neighbouring  woods, 
fancied  he  might  kill  the  time  between  breakfast  and  dinner  pleasantly 
enough.  This  was  all  that  was  intended  ;  and  a  darkey  to  guide  him  all 
that  was  needed. 

"  Weally  1"  remarked  he,  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm,  as  he  stood  before 
bis  glass,  and  addressing  himself  to  his  valet,  "  these  queeole  queetyavv* 


SMYTH  JE  IN   SflOO-flNa  COSTtlME.  13*7 


are  chawming-  -positively  chawming!  Nothing  iu  tlie  theataw  or  opewa 
at  all  to  compare  with  them.  Such  lovely  eyes,  such  divine  figawu,  and 
such  easy  conquests  !  By  jove  !  aw  can  count  a  dozen  alweady  !  Haw, 
haw  1"  added  Le,  with  a  self-gratulatory  chi^kle,  "  it's  but  natywal  that— 
dawn't  yaw  think  BO,  Thorns  ?" 

"  Parfectly  natyeral,  your  homier,"  replied  Thorns,  with  just  enough  ol 
an  Irish  brogue  to  show  he  was  a  Welshman. 

Either  the  lady-killer  was  not  content  with  his  twelve  easy  conquests, 
•iid  wished  to  have  the  number  more  complete  by  making  it  "a  baker's 
1-o/eii"  —  either  this,  or  he  was  uncertain  about  his  victory  over  one  of  the 
twelve  —  as  would  appear  by  the  dialogue  that  followed  between  him  and 
his  confidential  man. 

"  Hark,  yaw,  Thorns,"  said  he,  approaching  the  valet  in  a  more  serious 
way  ;  "yaw  are  an  exceedingly  intelligei*  fellaw  —  yaw  are,  'pon  honaw." 
"  Thank  your  honner.    It's  keepin'  your  honner'e  company  has  made 
me  so." 

"  Nevaw  mind  —  nevaw  mind  what  —  but  I  have  observed  yaw  intelli- 
gence." 

"  It's  at  your  honner's  humble  service." 
"  Ve-well,  Thorns  ;  ve-well  !    I  want  you  to  employ  it.,' 
"  In  what  way,  your  honner  ?  anything  your  honner  may  desire  me  to 
do," 

"  Yaw  know  the  niggaw  girl  —  the  brown  girl  with  the  tawban,  aw 
mean  ?" 

"  Miss  Vaghan's  waitin'-maid  ?" 

"  Exactly  —  ya-as.  Yolaw,  or  something  of  the  sawt,  is  the  queetyaw's 
name." 

"  Yis—  Yowla  ;  that's  her  name,  your  honner." 

u  Well,  Thorns,  aw  pwesume  you  have  excellent  oppowtunities  of  hold 
Ing  convawsation  with  haw  —  the  niggaw,  aw  mean  ?" 

"  Plenty  of  oppurtunity,  your  honner.  I've  talk'd  with  her  scores  of 
times." 

"  Good.  Now,  the  next  time  yaw  talk  with  haw,  Thorns,  I  want  yaw  to 
pump  haw." 

"  Pump  her  1  what's  that,  your  honner  ?" 
"  Why,  dwaw  something  out  of  haw  1" 
\     "  Fetli  1  1  don't  understaii'  your  hormer." 
"  Not  uudawstand  1  yaw  are  stoopid,  Thorns." 
"  Keeping  your  honner's  company  --  " 
'•  What,  fellaw  ?  keeping  my  company  make  yaw  stoopid  ?" 
M  No,  your  honner  ;  ye  didn't  hear  me  out.    I  was  goin*  to  say,  that 
keeping  your  honner's  company  would  soon  take  that  out  o'  me." 

"  H;;w  —  haw  —  that's  diffwent  altogethaw.  Well,  listen  now,  and  awt 
make  yaw  undawstand  me.  Aw  want  yaw  to  talk  with  this  Yolaw,  and 
dwaw  some  seekwets  out  of  haw." 

"  Oah  I"  answered  Thorns,  dwelling  a  long  time  upon  the  sound,  and 
placing  his  forefinger  along  the  flat  side  of  his  nose.  "  Now  I  comprehend 
your  honner." 

"  All  wight-all  wight" 


138  fiMTTHJE   IN   STtooTttfG  COSTtftfE. 

"  I'll  manage  that,  don't  fear  me  ;  but  what  sort  of  sacrets  docs  yoni 
hornier  want  me  to  draw  out  af  her  ?" 

"  Aw  want  yaw  to  find  out  what  she  says  about  IM — not  the  niggaw, 
but  haw  mistress." 

"  What  the  negur  says  about  her  mistress  t"  < 

"  Thorns,  yaw  are  intolawably  stoopid  this  mawning.  Not  at  all — not 
at  all ;  but  what  haw  mistress  says  about  me — me." 

"  Oh  1  fwhat  Miss  Vaghan  says  about  your  homier  ?" 

"  Pwecisely." 

"  Faith  I  I'll  find  that  out— every  word  af  it." 

"  If  yaw  do,  Thorns,  aw  shall  be  your  debtaw  faw  a  guinea."  \ 

"  A  guinea,  your  honner  1" 

"  Ya-as  ;  and  if  yaw  execute  yaw  commission  clevawly,  aw  "shall  make 
il  two — two  guineas,  do  yaw  heaw  ?" 

u  Never  fear,  your  homier.  I'll  get  it  out  of  the  negur,  if  I  sl/ould 
have  to  pull  the.  tongue  from  between  thim  shinin'  teeth  af  hers !" 

"  No,  Thorns — no,  my  good  fellaw  1  There  must  be  *  no  woodness. 
Wemernber,  we  are  guests  heaw,  and  Mount  Welcome  is  not  an  hotel. 
You  must  work  by  stwategy,  not  stwength,  as  Shakespeaw  or  some  other 
of  those  skwibbling  fellaws  has  said.  No  doubt  stwategy  will  win  tho 
day." 

And  with  this  ambiguous  observation — ambiguous  as  to  whether  it  re- 
ferred to  the  issue  of  Thoms's  embassy,  or  his  own  success  in  the  wooing 
of  Miss  Vaughan — Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  closed  the  conversation. 

Thorns  now  gave  the  last  touch  to  the  sportsman's  toilet,  by  setting  the 
hunting-cap  on  his  head,  and  hanging  numerous  belts  over  his  shoulders 
— among  which  were  included  a  shot-pouch,  a  copper  powder-horn,  a 
pewter  drinking  flask  with  its  cup,  and  a  hunting-knife  in  its  leathern 
sheath. 

"  Pon  honaw  1  a  demmed  becoming  costume !"  exclaimed  the  exquisite, 
surveying  himself  from  head  to  foot  in  the  rairpor.  "  A  killing  costume- 
decidedly  spawtsman-like.  Yaw  think  so,  Thems  1" 

"  Pe  cod  1  it  is  all  that,  your  honner." 

"  I  must  see  my  fwends,  and  say  good-bye  befaw  starting  out  Aw 
ya-as,  sawtinly  I  must." 

And  so  saying,  the  exquisite  strode  stiffly  from  the  apartment — his 
tight-fitting  fawnskins  hindering  any  very  supple  movement — and  wended 
his  way  towards  the  great  hall,  evidently  in  the  hop*  of  encountering  t'"- 
fair  queetyaw  Kate  in  his  killing  costume. 


A   COCKNEY   SPORTSMAN. 


CHAPTER   XLTV, 

A   COCKNEY   SPORTSMAN 

THAT  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  had  obtained  the  interview  he  sought,  and 
that  its  result  had  gratified  him,  might  be  inferred  from  the  complaisant 
smile  that  played  upon  his  countenance  as  he  sallied  forth  from  the  house. 
Moreover,  in  crossing  the  two  or  three  hundred  yards  of  open  ground 
which  separated  the  dwelling  from  the  wooded  slope  of  the  ridge,  h« 
walked  with  an  exalted,  gingerly  step — occasionally  glancing  back  over 
his  shoulder,  as  if  conscious  of  being  observed. 

He  was  observed.  Two  faces  could  be  seen  at  a  window,  OL«  ot  which 
Mr.  Smythje  knew  well  enough  to  be  that  of  Kate  Vaughan.  The  other, 
of  darker  hue,  was  the  face  of  the  maid  Tola. 

Both  were  set  in  smiles.  It  did  not  matter  to  Mr.  Smythje  whether 
the  maid  smiled  or  not ;  but  he  fondly  fancied  he  could  distinguish  a 
pleased  expression  on  the  countenance  of  the  mistress.  He  was  at  too 
great  a  distance  to  be  certain  ;  but  he  had  little  doubt  of  its  being  a  look 
of  intense  admiration  that  was  following  him  through  his  fine  paces. 

Had  he  been  near  enough  to  translate  the  expression  more  truly,  he 
might  have  doubted  whether  he  was  the  object  of  so  much  admiration ; 
and  had  the  remark  made  by  Tola  to  her  mistress  reached  his  ear,  with 
the  clear  ringing  laughter  it  called  forth,  his  doubts  would  have  had  a 
melancholy  confirmation. 

"  He  berry  gran,  missa !"  said  the  maid.  "  He  like  cock-a-benny  turned 
yellow-tail  I" — a  plantation  proverb,  which,  translated  into  plain  English, 
means,  that  the  coarse  and  despised  little  fish,  the  "  cock-a-benny,"  had 
become  metamorphosed  into  the  splendid  and  esteemed  species  known 
among  the  negroes  as  the  "  yellow-tail." 

As  the  sportsman  neither  heard  the  remark  nor  the  laugh  it  elicited,  he 
was  enabled  to  carry  his  self-esteem  into  the  woods  unhurt  and  undiinii> 
ished. 

At  his  heels  walked  an  attendant — a  negro  boy,  whose  sole  costume 
consisted  of  an  Osnaburgh  shirt,  with  a  huge  game  bag  slung  over  his 
shoulders,  and  hanging  down  to  his  hams.  It  was  the  veritable  Quashie, 
post-boy,  horse-boy,  and  factotum. 

Quashie's  duties  on  the  present  occasion  were  to  guide  the  English 
buckra  to  the  best  shooting  ground  among  the  hills,  and  carry  the  game 
when  killed.  As  there  was  no  dog — pigeon  and  pintado  shooting  not 
requiring  the  aid  of  this  sagacious  animal — Quashie  was  to  act  also  aa 
finder  and  retriever. 
^  For  a  full  mile  over  hill  and  dale,  through  "  brake,  brush,  and  scaur," 


140 

tramped  the  ardent  sportsman,  and  his  Ethiopian  attendant,  Quashis, 
keeping  like  a  shadow  at  the  heels  of  the  grand  buckra.  Still  not  ahead 
of  game  had  as  yet  been  bagged.  Ramiers  were  scarce  and  shy,  and  ae 
for  the  beautiful  speckled  hen — the  exotic  Numida  meleagris—not  as  much 
as  the  crest  of  one  could  be  seen.  Their  shrill  shreek,  like  the  filing  of 
&  frame  saw,  could  be  occasionally  heard  "  skirling"  afar  off  in  the  woods; 
and  the  hope  of  getting  sight  of  one  enticed  the  sportsman  still  further 
into  the  forest 

Another  mile  was  passed  over,  and  another  hour  spent,  almost  equally 
unfruitful  in  events.  A  few  ramiers  had  been  sighted  and  shot  at ;  but 
the  thick  corselet  of  feathers,  that  covers  the  bold  breasts  of  these  beau- 
tiful birds,  seemed  impenetrable  to  the  shot  of  a  gun ;  at  least,  they 
proved  so  to  the  double-barrelled  "  Manton"  of  the  London  sportsman. 

Another  mile  traversed — another  hour  spent — still  nothing  bagged  1 

His  want  of  success  did  not  hinder  the  sportsman  from  growing 
hungry  ;  and,  at  the  end  of  his  third  mile,  he  began  to  feel  a  certain  void 
about  the  epigastric  region  that  called  for  viands.  He  knew  that  the  bag 
which  Quashie  carried  contained  a  luncheon,  that  had  been  carefully  pro- 
vided and  packed  by  the  major-domo  of  Mount  Welcome.  It  was  time 
to  examine  this  luncheon  ;  and,  seating  himself  under  the  shadow  of  a 
spreading  tree,  he  directed  the  darkey  to  draw  it  forth. 

Nothing  loth  was  Quashie  to  respond  to  this  request ;  for  the  weight 
of  the  bag,  which  he  had  been  wincing  under  for  some  hours,  and  it» 
distended  sides,  promised  pickings  for  hinself — after  the  grand  buckra 
should  satisfy  his  hunger. 

Certainly  there  appeared  enough  for  both,  and  to  spare  :  for  on  "  gut- 
ting" the  game  bag,  a  whole  capon  was  turned  out  upon  the  grass,  with 
sundry  slices  of  bread,  ham,  and  tongue,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  salt, 
pepper,  and  mustard. 

A  bottle  of  claret  was  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  bag;  which,  in  addition 
to  the  flask  of  eau  de  vie  that  the  sportsman  himself  carried,  and  which 
he  now  laid  aside  to  disencumber  him,  was  liquid  enough  to  wash  down 
the  savoury  solids  which  the  thoughtful  steward  had  provided. 

A  knife  and  fork  was  also  turned  out ;  and,  as  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje 
was  more  habile  in  the  handling  of  these  weapons  than  he  was  in  the  use 
of  a  gun,  in  a  trice  the  capon  was  cut  into  convenient  pieces.  In  an 
equally  short  space  of  time,  many  of  these  pieces  disappeared  between 
his  teeth,  in  company  with  sundry  slices  of  the  ham  and  tongue. 

Quashio  was  not  invited  to  partake  ;  but  sat  near  the  grand  buckra'i 
feet,  wistfully  watching  his  movements,  as  a  dog  would  his  master  simi- 
larly occupied.  (. ,;., 

As  the  masticatory  powers  of  the  cockney  sportsman  appeared  to  be 
of  no  mean  order,  Quashie's  look  began  to  betray  astonishment,  mingled 
with  a  growing  dread,  that  the  "  oughts"  he  might  be  called  upon  to  oat 
would  be  neither  very  numerous  nor  very  bulky.  Half  the  capon  had 
already  disappeared,  with  a  large  proportion  of  the  odd  slices  of  the  haw 
and  tongue  1 

"  I  b'lieve  de  dam  buckra  glutton  za  gwine  eat  um  all  up— ebberry  bit !' 
was  Quashie's  mental,  and  not  very  good-humoured,  soliloquy.  *'  Ay,  ai» 
drink  'um  up  too — ebbory  drop  1"  continued  he,  in  thought,  as  ae  «uv 


A   COCKNEY   SPORTSMAN  141 

Mr.  Smythje  quaff  off  a  full  cup  of  the  claret  without  taking  the  vessel 
from  his  lips. 

Shortly  after,  another  cup  was  poured  into  the  same  capacious  funnel : 
for  the  exercise  he  had  undergone,  combined  with  the  warmth  of  the  day 
had  rendered  the  sportsman  drouthy. 

To  the  great  chagrin  of  Quashie,  and  the  no  small  mortification  of 
flraythje  himself,  a  worse  misfortune  than  that  of  its  being  drunk  befel 
the  remainder  of  the  claret.  On  setting  down  the  bottle,  after  filling  hio 
oup  for  the  second  time,  the  sportsman  had  performed  the  act  in  ari  un- 
skilful manner.  The  consequences  was  that  the  bottle,  losing  its  balance 
toppled  over ;  and  the  balance  of  the  claret  trickled  out  upon  the  grass-, 

Both  Quashie 'a  temper  and  patience  were  put  to  a  severe  test ;  but  the 
buckra's  appetite  being  at  length  appeased,  the  '  debris'  of  the  feast — 
still  a  considerable  quantity — remained  for  Quashie's  share  ;  and  he  was 
directed  to  fall  to  and  make  his  best  of  it. 

The  darkie  was  not  slow  in  complying  with  the  order  ;  and,  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  went  to  work,  it  was  evident,  that  unless  Mr.  Siaythje 
should  make  better  shooting  after  luncheon  than  he  had  done  before  it, 
the  game  bag  would  go  back  to  the  house  much  lighter  than  it  had 
left  it. 

While  Quashie  was  masticating  his  meal,  the  refreshed  sportsman — his 
spirits  elevated  by  the  claret  he  had  quaffed — bethought  him  of  taking  a 
stroll  by  himself.  There  was  no  time  to  be  wasted— as  the  contigency  of 
having  to  return  to  Mount  Welcome  with  an  empty  bag  had  already  be- 
gun to  suggest  itself ;  and  after  the  sanguine  expectations  which  his  grand 
sporting  costume  must  have  given  rise  to — assisted  by  some  little  bravedo 
he  had  indulged  in  while  leave-taking — his  failing  to  fulfil  these  expecta- 
tions could  not  be  otherwise  than  humiliating. 

He  resolved,  therefore,  to  return  to  his  shooting  with  a  more  serious 
earnestness,  and,  if  possible,  make  up  for  the  deficiencies  of  the  morning. 

It  was  now  one  o'clock,  and  he  had  yet  three  hours  to  the  good,  before 
it  would  be  necessary  to  face  homeward.  Dinner  was  to  be  on  the  table 
at  five  ;  for  since  his  arrival  at  Mount  Welcome,  Mr.  Vaughan  had  chang- 
ed the  hour  for  that  important  meal  from  three  to  five — to  accommodate 
the  fashionable  habits  of  his  aristocratic  guest 

Slinging  on  his  horn  and  pouch,  and  laying  hold  of  his  gun,  the  sport* 
man  once  more  started  off,  leaving  his  retriever  busily  employed  in  polish 
tog  off  the  "  drumsticks"  of  the  capon. 


WALKING   A   TURRET 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

STALKING      A      TURKEY 

IT  almost  seemed  as  if  the  divine  patron  of  the  chase—  the  gxid  St.  fTn« 
bert — had  regarded  the  spilt  wine  as  an  oblation  to  himself,  and,  in  re« 
turn  had  consented  to  give  the  sportsman  success. 

Scarce  had  the  latter  advanced  two  hundred  yards  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  launched,  when  his  eyes  were  gratified  by  the  splendid 
spectacle  of  a  flock  of  large,  fine-looking  birds.  They  were  upon  th« 
ground,  in  an  open  field  or  glade  of  several  acres  in  extent,  by  tne  edge 
of  which  the  sportsman  had  arrived. 

They  were  sitting,  or  rather  standing,  close  together  ;  and  had  Mr 
Smythje  not  been  so  terribly  flurried  by  the  sight,  he  might  have  observ- 
ed that  they  were  clustered  round  the  skeleton  of  a  pig  or  some  other 
animal — from  whose  bones  the  flesh  had  been  stripped  as  cleanly  as  if 
intended  for  a  museum. 

As  Smythje'e  knowledge  of  natural  history  was  confined  to  what  lie 
had  picked  up  in  a  stray  visit  to  a  London  menagerie,  it  never  occurred 
to  him  what  kind  of  birds  they  were,  or  what  they  might  be  doing  there. 

At  first  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  they  were  the  Guinea  hens  he  was 
in  search  of ;  but,  on  looking  at  them  more  particularly,  he  began  to 
doubt  whether  they  were  Guinea  hens.  The  latter — at  least  the  tame 
ones  he  had  seen  about  Mount  Welcome — were  all  bluish  and  speckled  ; 
whereas  the  birds  now  in  view  were  of  a  uniform  black.  Perhaps  the 
wild  Guinea  fowls  might  be  a  different  breed  from  their  tame  cousins, 
and  this  would  account  for  the  want  of  resemblance  in  the  colour  of  their 
plumage. 

While  making  these  conjectural  reflections,  he  noticed  another  pecu- 
liarity about  the  birds.  They  had  all  of  them  naked  necks  and  heads,  of 
a  reddish  or  flesh  colour — just  like  turkeys. 

"  Haw !  tawkeys  they  are  1     By  Jawve !  a  flock  of  wild  tawkeys  I" 

The  London  exquisite  had  heard,  somehow  or  somewhere,  that  the 
wild  turkey  was  indeginous  to  America,  and,  of  course,  also  to  Jamaica 
— since  Jamaica  is  part  of  America. 

However  erroneous  the  deduction,  the  reasoning  satisfied  Smythje  ; 
and,  firmly  convinced  that  he  saw  before  him  a  flock  of  wild  turkeys,  ho 
determined  on  taking  measures  to  circumvent  them. 

They  were  still  at  too  great  a  distance  to  offer  any  chance  for  a  shot- 
gun ;  and,  in  order  to  get  nearer,  h*  dropped  clown  upon  14*  knees,  9$$ 


STALKING   A   TURKEY.  143 


commenced  creeping  behind  the  low  bushes  that  grew  around  the 

His  delicate  fawn-skin  inexpressibles  were  likely  to  suffer  d*nii»ge  by 
this  mode  of  progression  ;  and  he  now  felt  the  inconvenience  of  the 
straps  ;  but  so  desirous  was  he  of  success,  that  the  total  deati  action  ot 
both  straps  and  trousers  would  not  have  deterred  him  from  proceeding. 
Ee  thought  only  of  the  chagrin  of  returning  to  Mount  Welcome  with  an 
empty  game  bag,  and  the  glory  of  going  back  with  a  full  one. 

Instead  of  crouching  among  the  shrubs  —  in  the  idle  contempt  to  con- 
tonceal  his  person  from  the  observation  of  the  birds  —  had  he 
walked  straight  forward  to  them,  in  all  probability  he  would  have  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  shot.  This  is  the  more  probable  :  since  the  birds 
instead  of  being  turkeys,  were  only  turkey-buzzards  (or  "  John  Crows,"  as 
they  are  called  in  Jamaica)  ;  and,  knowing  themselves  to  be  under  the 
protection  of  a  statute  of  the  island,  they  would  have  taken  no  more  no- 
tice of  the  sportsman  than  if  he  had  been  a  cow  straying  among  them. 

The  fact,  however,  of  his  being,  a  cockney  —  which  the  Jamaica  "  John 
Crows"  could  not  have  failed  to  observe  —  combined  with  the  sly  manner 
of  his  approach,  aroused  their  suspicions  ;  and,  taking  the  alarm,  one  and 
all  of  them  rose  up  into  the  air,  and  flapped  sluggishly  away. 

They  did  not  fly  far  :  most  of  them  alighted  on  the  adjacent  trees  ;  and 
one  in  particular  perched  itself  on  the  top  of  a  stump  which  could  not 
be  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where  Smythje  was  kneel- 
ing. 

This  bird  —  apparently  the  finest  of  the  flock  —  now  monopolised  the 
attention  of  the  sportsman  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  rest. 

He  saw  that  a  pot  shot  at  the  flock  was  no  longer  possible,  as  they 
were  scattered  over  the  trees  ;  and  he  thought  it  better  to  content  him 
self  with  a  single  bird.  Even  one  of  these  large  creatures  would  make 
a  bag  not  to  be  bantered  about.  A  wild  turkey  —  and  a  cock  bird  at  that 
would  be  worth  half  a  dozen  of  Guinea  hens,  or  a  half-score  of  ramier 
pigeons. 

To  insure  success,  the  sportsman  still  kept  to  his  knees,  and  crawled 
forward  cautiously.  If  he  could  only  make  thirty  yards  in  advance, 
he  knew  his  gun  was  good  for  the  other  seventy  —  the  complement  of  the 
hundred,  at  which  distance  he  guessed  the  turkey  to  be  from  him. 

In  fine,  the  thirty  yards  were  accomplished,  and  still  the  turkey  remain- 
ed upon  its  perch. 

The  gun  was  brought  to  bear  npon  the  bird  ;  Joe  Manton  did  the  work; 
and,  simultaneous  with  the  "  bang,"  the  turkey  was  seen  to  tumble  over, 
disappearing  as  it  did  so  from  the  top  of  the  stump.  The  overjoyed 
sportsman  hastened  forward  to  secure  his  game  ;  and  soon  arrived  at 
the  spot  where  he  expected  to  find  it  To  his  surprise,  it  was  not  there! 

The  others  had  all  flown  away  ;  had  it  gone  along  with  them  ? 

Impossible  !  He  had  seen  it  fall,  and  without  a  flutter.  It  must  have 
been  shot  quite  dead  ?  It  could  not  have  come  to  life  again  ?  He  search- 
ed all  about  —  going  round  the  stump  at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  carefully 
scrutinising  every  inch  of  the  ground  for  a  score  of  yards  on  each  side 
—but  no  turkey  could  be  found  1 

Had  the  unlucky  sportsman  been  at  all  doubtful  of  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing killed  the  bird,  he  would  have  given  up  th.e  g^ajoh  10  despair.  Bui 


144 

upon  this  point  he  was  as  certain  as  of  his  own  existence  ;  and  it  wad 
tluu  which  rendered  him  so  pertinacious  in  his  endeavours  to  find  it. 
lie  was  determined  to  leave  neither  stick  nor  stone  unturned  ;  and  to  aid 
him  in  the  prosecution  of  his  search,  he  caDed  loudly  for  hia  retriever 
Quashie. 

,  But  to  his  repeated  calls  no  Quashie  came ;  and  Mr.  Smythje  was  forc- 
ed to  the  conclusion  that  the  darkey  had  either  gone  to  sleep  or  had 
strayed  away  from  the  spot  where  he  had  been  teft.  He  had  some 
thoughts  of  going  back  to  look  for  Quashie  ;  but,  while  he  was  modit»f 
ting  on  the  matter,  an  idea  occurred  to  him,  which  promised  to  explaii  i 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  bird.  | 

The  stump  upon  which  the  "  turkey"  had  been  perched  could  scarcely 
be  termed  a  stump.  It  was  rather  the  trunk  of  a  huge  tree,  that  had 
been  abruptly  broken  off  below  the  limbs,  and  still  stood  some  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet  in  height,  erect  and  massive  as  the  tower  of  some  ruined 
castle.  Though  quite  a  dead  wood,  and  without  any  branches  of  ite  own, 
it  was,  nevertheless,  garnished  with  verdure.  A  complete  matting  of 
vines  that  grew  around  its  roots,  and  parasites  that  sprang  from  its  da 
cay  ing  sides,  inclosed  it  all  around  with  a  tortuous  trellis  work — so  that 
only  near  its  top  could  the  shape  of  the  old  tree  be  distinguished. 

At  first  the  sportsman  supposed  that  his  game  had  dropped  down 
among  the  ragged  shrubbery  that  clustered  around  the  tree  ;  but  he  had 
searched  the  whole  of  this  with  elaborate  minuteness,  and  in  vain. 

It  had  now  occurred  to  him — and  this  was  the  idea  that  promised 
eclairctssement  spoken  of — that  the  bird  had  never  fallen  from  the  stump, 
but  had  dropped  dead  upon  the  top  of  it,  and  there  might  still  be  lying  I 

The  diameter  of  the  dead  wood,  which  at  its  broken  summit,  was  some 
five  or  six  feet,  rendered  this  conjecture  probable  enough  ;  and  Smythie 
resolved  upon  putting  it  to  the  proof,  by  climbing  to  the  top.  He  would 
have  appointed  Quashie  to  the  performance  of  this  feat ;  but  Quashie 
was  non  e*stt  invtntus. 

Several  thick  cable-like  vines,  that  struggled  up  to  the  summit  of  the 
dead  wood,  promised  an  easy  means  of  ascent ;  and,  although  the  cock- 
ney could  climb  about  as  dexterously  as  a  shod  cat,  he  fancied  there 
could  be  no  great  difficulty  in  attaining  the  top  of  that  stump.  Throw- 
ing aside  his  gun,  he  entered  enthusiastically  upon  the  attempt 
!  The  feat  was  not  so  easy  of  performance  but  that  it  cost  him  an  exer 
tiDn.  Stimulated,  however,  by  the  desire  to  retrieve  his  game,  and  the  r« 
flections  about  the  g>me  bag,  already  alluded  to,  he  put  forth  his  utmost 
energies,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  the  summit. 

1  His  conjecture  proved  correct.  There  lay  the  bird— not  on  the  stump, 
but  in  it — at  the  bottom  of  a  largo  cylinder-shaped  concavity,  which 
opened  several  feet  down  the  heart  of  the  dead  wood.  There  it  was 
dead  as  the  tree  itself. 

The  sportsman  could  not  restrain  himself  from  uttering  a  cry  of  joy — • 
as  he  saw  his  fine  game  at  length  secure  within  his  reach. 

It  proved  not  exactly  within  his  reach,  however :  aa,  upon  kneeling 
down  and  stretching  his  arm  to  its  full  length,  he  found  that  he  could 
nor  touch  the  bird,  even  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

That  signified  IRtlfv    It  would  only  be  necessary  for  him  to  descer  3 

f  -v.... 


SMYTHJE   EMBARKASSED   BY   HIS  BOOTS.  145 

into  the  cavity,  and  this  lie  could  easily  do :  as  it  was  wide  enough,  and 
not  over  four  feet  in  depth. 

Without  further  reflection,  he  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  leaped  down 
into  the  hole. 

It  would  have  been  a  wiser  act  if  he  had  remember  the  prudent  coun- 
ael  of  the  paternal  frog,  and  looked  before  leaping.    That  was  one  of  the 
most  unfortunate  jumps  Mr.  Smythje  had  ever  made  in  his  life.    Tke 
brown  surface  upon  which  the  bird  lay,  and  which  looked  so  deceptive 
solid,  was  nothing  more  than  a  mass  of  rotton  heartwood,  honeycoml  f 
with  long  decay.    So  flimsy  was  it  in  structure,  that,  though  supporting  | 
a  dead  bird,  it  gave  way  under  the  weight  of  a  living  man ;  and  the  lord  \ 
of  Montagu  Castle  shot  as  rapidly  out  of  sight  as  if  he  had  leaped  feet 
foremost  from  the  mainyard  of  the  Sea  Nymph  into  the  deepest  sounding 
of  the  Atlantic  1 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

8MYTHJE   EMBARRASSED    BY   HIS   BOOTS. 

RAPID  as  was  the  pitch,  and  dark  the  abyss  into  which  it  was  made  the 
sportsman  was  not  killed.  Neither  was  he  much  hurt,  for  the  "  punk" 
through  which  he  had  pitched,  though  not  firm  enough  to  support  him, 
had  offered  some  resistance  to  the  velocity  of  his  descent ;  and  towards 
the  bottom  he  had  settled  down  more  gradually. 

But  though  neither  killed  nor  yet  stunned  by  the  fall,  he  was  for 
awhile  as  completely  deprived  of  his  senses  as  if  he  had  been  both. 
Surprise  had  bereft  him  not  only  of  the  power  of  speech,  but  of  thought 
as  well ;  and  for  some  moments  he  was  as  quiet  as  Jack  after  being  jerk- 
ed  into  his  box. 

After  a  time,  however,  feeling  that,  though  badly  scared,  he  was  not 
much  hurt,  his  consciousness  began  to  return  to  him ;  and  he  made  a 
scramble  to  recover  his  legs  ;  for,  in  going  down,  he  had  somehow  got 
doubled  up  in  a  sort  of  tailor  fashion. 

He  found  his  feet  after  an  effort ;  and,  as  he  saw  that  light  came  from 
above,  he  raised  his  eyes  in  that  direction. 

It  took  him  some  time  to  make  out  the  exact  character  of  the  place  in 
which  he  was  :  for  a  thick  "  stoor"  was  swimming  around  him,  that  not 
only  impeded  his  sight,  but,  having  entered  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  had 
inducted  him  into  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing. 

The  dust,  however,  gradually  thinned  away  ;  and  Smythje  was  enabled 
to  "  define  his  position." 

Above  his  head  was  a  clear  circular  patch,  which  he  knew  to  be  the 
sky ;  while  all  around  him  was  a  dark  brown  wall  that  rose  many  feet 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  outstretched  arms.  He  became  conscious  that 
he  was  standing  in  the  concavity  of  a  huge  upright  cylinder,  with  a  sur- 
face of  corrugated  rotten  wood  rising  all  around  him. 

As  his  senses,  grew  clearer — and  also  the  atmosphere — he  arrived  at  a 
bettor  comprehension  of  the  mishap  that  had  befallen  Jiim.  He  did  ziot, 


146  SMYTHJE   EMBARRASSED   BY   HIS   BOOTS. 

at  nrst,  regard  it  in  the  light  of  a  misfortune — at  least  not  a  very  heavy 
one — arid  he  was  rather  disposed  to  laugh  at  it  as  a  ludicrous  adventure. 

It  was  not  till  he  began  to  thkik  of  climbing  out,  and  had  actually 
made  the  attempt,  that  he  became  aware  of  a  difficulty  hitherto  unsus- 
pected; and  the  contemplation  of  which  at  once  inspired  him  with  a  feel- 
ing of  alarm. 

A  second  attempt  to  get  out  was  unsuccessful  as  the  first ;  a  third 
equally  so  ;  a  fourth  had  no  better  issue  ;  a  fifth  was  alike  a  failure  ;  and 
after  the  sixth,  he  sat  down  upon  the  rotten  rubbish  in  a  state  bordering 
an  despair. 

Well  might  he  have  exclaimed  : 

'*  Facilis  descensus  Avcrni,  sed  revocare  gradum."* 

The  mind  of  Mr.  Smythje  was  now  under  the  influence  of  an  indescrib- 
able awe  ;  which  for  some  time  held  mastery  over  it  and  hindered  him 
even  from  reflecting. 

When  reflection  came  to  his  aid,  it  was  only  to  make  more  certain  the 
fearful  reality  of  his  situation.  The  more  he  reflected  upon  it,. the  more 
he  be  came  convinced  of  the  peril  into  which  his  rash  leap  had  precipi- 
tated him. 

It  was  not  simply  a  slight  mishap — a  ludicrous  adventure  he  no  long- 
er saw  it  in  that  light  Neither  was  it  a  mere  misfortune  ;  but  a  posi- 
tive danger — the  danger  of  his  life  1 

Yes,  his  life  was  most  certainly  in  danger  ;  and  he  was  not  slow  in  ar- 
riving at  this  knowledge.  The  chain  of  inductive  reasoning  that  led  to 
it  was  but  too  palpably  clear — every  link  of  it — from  premises  to  conclu- 
sion. If  he  could  not  help  himself  out  of  the  prison,  in  which  by  his  un- 
lucky leap  he  had  incarcerated  himself,  who  was  to  help  him  ? 

Hope  could  not  dwell  long  upon  Quashie.  The  darkey  had  been  left 
some  distance  off ;  and  since  he  had  not  answered  to  his  calls,  he  must 
be  asleep  or  straying  ?  In  either  case,  or  even  if  awake  and  still  on  tho 
ground  of  the  bivouac,  what  chances  would  Quashie  have  of  finding 
him? 

Could  the  boy  follow  his  tracks  to  the  tree  ?  Very  unlikely.  Sraythje 
remembered  that  most  of  the  ground  over  which  he  had  come  was  cov- 
ered with  wild  guinea  grass,  upon  which  neither  his  feet  nor  his  knees 
would  leave  any  impressions.  Its  elastic  culms  would  spring  up  again, 
as  soon  as  tj£  had  passed  over  them,  leaving  but  little  evidence  of  hii 
passage-,  efiipugh,  perhaps,  for  a  skilled  hunter  to  have  tracked  him  ;  but 
not  sufficient  for  a  loutish  negro  lad — a  stable  boy  of  the  plantation. 
And  if  Quashie  should  fail  to  take  up  his  track,  what  chance  was  there 
of  the  boy's  finding  him  ?  None  at  all ;  or  only  one  in  a  thousand. 

Who  else  was  to  find  him,  if  not  Quashie — !  who  else  ?  Who  wa* 
likely  to  come  that  way  ? 

Not  a  soul!  The  tree  that  contained  him  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  wild 
tract — a  solitary  forest  all  round — no  roads,  no  paths — he  had  observed 
none.  He  might  be  there  for  a  month  without  a  human  being  approach- 
ing the  place  ;  and  a  week  would  bo  enough  to  destroy  him  ?  Yes,  in 
one  week,  or  far  less,  he  might  expect  to  die  of  starvation  ?  perhapi 
•ooner  than  that?  The  prospect  way  appalling. 
*  "  JCaay  is  the  descent  to  Avernus,  but  to  retrace  OUO'B  step  IB  not  BO  easy."— 7iM ift  - 


SMYTHJE   EMBARRASSED   IN   HIS  BOOTS.  147 

And  it  so  appalled  him,  that  again  his  mind  gave  way  under  it;  and 
relapsed  into  the  stupor  of  despondence. 

It  is  not  natural  that  one  should  sink  at  once  into  utter  despair,  with- 
out making  an  extreme  effort.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation — com- 
mon to  the  lowest  animals— will  nerve  even  the  weakest  spirit  of  man. 
That  of  Montagu  Smythje  was  none  of  the  strongest,  and  had  given  way 
at  the  first  shock ;  but,  after  a  time,  a  reaction  came,  stimulating  him  to 
make  a  fresh  effort  for  his  life. 

Once  more  starting  to  his  feet,  he  attempted  to  scale  the  steep  walli 
that  encircled  him  ;  but  the  attempt,  as  betore,  proved  a  failure. 

In  this  last  trial,  however,  he  discovered  that  his  exertions  were  greatly 
hindered  by  three  special  impedimenta— ike  tight  fawnskin  trousers  that, 
moistened  with  perspiration,  clung  closely  aroued  his  legs ;  his  boots  j 
but,  above  all,  the  straps  that  bound  boots  and  trousers  together. 

To  get  rid  of  these  obstacles  became  his  next  thought ;  and  the  execu- 
tion of  such  a  design  might  appear  easy  enough. 

On  tiral,  however,  it  proved  a  most  difficult  undertaking. 

From  the  confined  space  in  which  he  stood,  he  could  not  get  into  a 
stooping  attitude,  so  as  to  reach  down  to  the  straps  and  unbutton  them  ; 
and  so  long  as  these  remained  buttoned,  it  was  impossible  to  take  off  the 
boots.  He  could  squat  down  tailor-fashion,  as  he  had  already  done  ;  but 
in  that  posture  the  straps  became  so  tightened,  that  to  unbutton 
them  was  clearly  out  of  the  question.  The  delicate  fingers  of  the  dandy 
were  unequal  to  the  effort. 

"  Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention."  This  adage  held  good  in 
Smythje's  case,  for  it  just  then  occurred  to  him  to  unfasten  his  suspen- 
ders instead  of  his  straps,  and  divest  himself  of  his  under  garments  all 
at  once ! 

For  this  purpose  he  rose  to  his  feet:  in  doing  so,  a  better  idea  suggest- 
ed itself,  to  cut  off  this  fawn-skinned  inexpressibles  just  above  the  knees  ; 
and  thus  free  boots,  straps,  and  pantaloon  bottoms  all  together  1 

He  had  left  his  hunting  knife  by  his  brandy  flask,  and  both  on  the 
ground  of  the  bivouac.  Fortunately,  however,  a  penknife,  which  he  car- 
ried in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  would  answer  even  better  ;  and,  drawing  it 
forth,  he  proceeded  to  execute  his  design, 

A  cross  section  of  the  fawnskins  just  above  the  knees  was  easily  made  j 
and  then — by  the  alternate  application  of  toe  to  heel — boots,  trousers, 
bottoms  and  all,  were  cast  simultaneously,  and  Smythje  stood  in  hia 
stockings  1 

He  did  not  remain  long  inactive.  Danger  urged  him  to  exert  himself; 
and  onco  more  he  essayed  to  scale  the  walls  of  his  tree  prison. 

Alas !  alter  many  efforts — many  oft-repeated,  but  unsucceasful  clam 
berings — he  was  forced  back  to  the  appalling  conviction  that  the  thing 
was  impossible. 

He  could  get  up  within  about  four  feet  of  the  orifice ;  but  there  the  sur- 
face, which  had  been  long  open  to  the  atmosphere,  was  worn  so  smooth 
by  the  weather — besides  being  still  wet  and  slippery  from  late  rains — 
that  he  could  find  no  holding  place  upon  it ;  and  at  every  endeavour  to 
grasp  the  rotten  wood,  he  lost  his  balance,  and  fell  backward  to  the 
bottom. 

These  falls  frequently  stunned  him,  aunost  knocking  the  breath  out  of 


148-  A  TROPIO   8HOWEB. 

his  body  They  were  from  a  considerable  height— ten  or  twelve  feet— 
and,  but  for  the  soft  rubbish  below,  that  modified  the  shock  as  ho  camt 
down,  one  such  descent  would  have  been  sufficient  to  cripple  him  for 
life. 

Once  more  his  spirit  sank  within  him.    Once  more  he  yielded  t->  (let- 
pair. 


CHAPTER   XLVH. 

A      TROPIC      SHOWER. 

WBOEK  reflection  again  favoured  the  unfortunate  Smythje — which  it  did 
after  a  short  time  had  passed  over — his  thoughts  took  a  new  turn.  He 
made  no  further  attempt  at  climbing  out :  the  many  trials  already  made 
had  fully  convinced  him  of  its  impracticability.  He  now  felt  satisfied 
that  his  only  hope  lay  in  the  chance  of  Quashie  or  some  one  else  coming 
that  way.  And  this  chance  was  grievously  doubtful.  Even  should  one 
pass  near  the  dead  wood,  how  was  he  to  know  that  Smythje  was  inside 
it  ?  Who  would  suspect  that  the  old  tree  was  hollow  ?  and,  least  of  all, 
that  a  huiran  being  was  inclosed  within  its  cylindrical  cell — buried  alive, 
as  it  were,  in  this  erect  wooden  sarcophagus  ? 

True,  a  person  passing  might  see  the  gun  lying  upon  the  ground  out- 
side ;  but  that  would  be  no  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  its  owner. 

There  was  no  chance  of  his  being  seen ;  his  only  hope  was  that  he 
might  be  heard;  and  the  moment  this  thought  came  into  his  mind,  he  com- 
menced crying  out  at  the  highest  pitch  of  his  voice. 

He  regetted  that  he  had  not  done  so  before  :  since  some  one  might  have 
passed  in  the  interim. 

After  falling  in,  he  liad  shouted  several  times  during  the  moments  of 
his  first  surprise  ;  but  while  making  his  attempts  to  clamber  out,  he  had 
"desisted — the  earnestness  of  his  exertions  having  reduced  him  to  silence. 

Now  that  he  had  comprehended  the  necessity  of  making  a  noise,  he 
determined  to  make  up  for  his  former  remissness  ;  and  he  continued  to 
pour  forth  scream  after  scream  with  all  the  power  of  his  lungs,,  | 

For  several  minutes,  without  ceasing,  did  he  keep  crying  out ;  but  not- 
withstanding the  loud  clamour  he  was  making,  he  was  very  anxious  on 
the  sc»re  of  being  heard.  Even  should  people  be  passing  near,  could  his 
Toioe  reach  them  ?  It  was  no  thin  shell  that  was  around  him.  He  knew 
from  the  diameter  of  the  trunk,  that  a  thick  wall  of  solid  wood  was  be- 
tween him  and  the  open  air — to  say  nothing  of  the  matting  of  vines  ana 
parasites — all  calculated  to  deaden  the  sound. 

As  these  facts  passed  before  his  mind,  the  suspicion  that  he  might  not 
be  heard  soon  assumed  the  shape  of  a  certainty  ;  and  again  the  terrible 
phantom  of  despair  rose  up  before  him — grim  and  ghastly  as  ever. 

For  a  moment  it  paralysed  him — almost  depriving  him  of  the  powei 
of  utterance.  But  necessity  urged  him  to  renewed  efforts.  His  only 
chance  of  life  lay  in  making  himself  heard  ;  and,  convinced  of  this,  he 
once  more  put  forth  his  voice,  its  tones  now  varying  from  a  icrewn  to  » 
groan. 


A   TilOPlC    SHOWED.  149 

for  nearly  an  hour  did  he  continue  thifi  melancholy  cavahna,  without 
receiving  any  response  beyond  tho  echoes  of  his  own  voice,  which  re- 
veberated  through  the  concavity  in  hollow,  sepulchral  tones — a  mourn- 
ful monologue  of  alternate  groaning  and  howling,  with  pauses,  at  short 
intervals,  as  the  utterer  listened  for  an  answer. 

But  no  answer  came  ;  no  change  took  place  in  his  situation,  except  one 
that  was  calculated  to  make  it  still  more  deplorable  and  forlorn.  As  if 
his  lugubrious  appeals  had  invoked  the  demon  of  the  storm,  the  skr 
above  became  suddenly  overcast  with  heavy,  black  clouds,  from  whick 
came  pouring  rain  such  as  might  have  fallen  during  the  forty  days  of 
the  deluge  1 

It  was  one  of  those  tropic  showers,  where  the  water  pours  down,  not 
in  single,  isolated  drops,  but  in  long,  continuous  streams  :  as  if  heaven's 
canopy  was  one  great  shower-bath,  of  which  the  string  had  been  jerked 
and  tied  down. 

Though  well  sheltered  from  wind,  the  unfortunate  Smythje  had  no 
roof — no  cover  of  any  kind — to  shield  him  from  the  rain,  which  came 
pouring  down  upon  his  devoted  head,  as  though  the  spout  of  a  p-ump 
nad  been  directed  into  the  hollow  of  the  dead  wood.  Indeed,  the  funnel- 
shaped  orifice,  which  was  wider  than  the  rest  of  the  concavity,  aided  in 
conducting  a  larger  quantity  of  rain  into  it ;  and,  but  that  the  water  found 
means  of  escape,  by  percolating  through  the  mass  of  dry  rubbish  below, 
Mr.  Smythje  might  have  been  in  danger  of  a  more  sudden  death  than  by 
starvation ;  since  there  fell  sufficient  water  to  have  drowned  him. 

If  not  drowned,  however,  he  got  well  douched.  There  was  not  a  stitch 
of  clothing  upon  his  person  that  was  not  wetted  through:  the  silk  velvet 
shooting-coat,  the  purple  vest,  and  what  remained  of  the  fawn- 
skin  trowsers,  all  were  alike  soaked  and  saturated.  Even  his  whiskers  had 
parted  with  their  crisp  rigidity;  the  curls  had  come  out  of  the  tails  of  his 
moustaches  ;  his  hair  had  lost  its  amplitude  ;  and  all  three — hair,  whis- 
kers, and  moustaches — hung  dripping  and  draggled. 

In  that  melancholy  image  of  manhood,  that,  stood  shivering  in  the  hollow 
tree,  it  would  have  required  a  quick  imagination  to  have  recognised  Mr 
Montagu  Smythje,  the  dabonair  sportsman  of  the  morning. 

Lugubrious  as  were  his  looks  they  were  nothing  to  compare  with  his 
thoughts.  There  were  moments  when  he  felt  angry — angry  at  his  ill- 
fortune — angry  at  Quashie — angry  at  Mr.  Vaughan,  for  having  provided 
|  an  attendant  so  inattentive  to  his  duties.  There  were  moments  when  ho 
felt  spiteful  enough  to  swear.  Yes,  in  that  fearful  crisis  Smythje  swore — 
the  owner  of  Mount  Welcome  and  Quashie  being  alternately  the  object 
of  his  abjurations.  Jamaica,  too,  came  in  for  a  share  of  his  spite — its  pigeom 
and  Guinea  hens,  its  trees,  and,  above  all,  its  wild  turkeys  1 

"  The  howwid  island  I"  he  cried  in  his  anguish ;  would  to  his  "  Ma- 
keaw"  he  had  never  set  foot  on  its  "  shaws !"  What  at  that  moment 
would  he  not  have  given  to  be  once  more  in  his  "  dwear  metwopolis  ?' 
Gladly  would  he  have  exchanged  his  tree-prison  for  a  chamber  in  the 
King's  Bench — ay,  for  the  meanest  cell  which  the  Old  Bailey  could  have 
afforded ! 

Poor  Smythje !  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  climax  of  his  sorrows.  A 
uew  suffering  was  in  store  for  him — one  in  comparison  with  which  all 


[50  A  EAtfGEROtTS  DANCE* 

he  had  undergone  was  hut  a  mild  endurance.  It  was  only  when  that 
slimy  tiling  came  crawling  over  his  feet,  and  began  tc  cut  wine  itself 
round  his  ankles— its  cold  clammy  touch  painfully  perceptible  through 
his  silk  stockings — it  was  only  then  that  he  felt  something  like  a  sensa- 
tion of  real  horror ! 

He  was  on  his  legs  at  the  moment ;  and  instantly  sprang  upward,  as  if 
hot  coals  had  been  suddenly  applied  to  the  soles  of  his  feet.  But  spring- 
ing upward  did  not  avail  him,  since  it  resulted  in  his  dropping  down 
again  in  the  same  spot ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  felt  writhing  bci>8atb  hii 
feet  the  slippery  form  of  a  serpent .' 


CHAPTER     XLVIII. 

A  DANGEROUS  DANCE. 

BEYOND  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  was  Smythje  standing  upon  a  snake,  or, 
rather,  dancing  upon  one  ;  for  as  he  felt  the  scaly  creature  crawling  and 
writhing  under  his  feet  with  a  strong  muscular  action,  it  was  contrary  to 
human  nature  that  he  should  remain  at  rest  upon  such  a  perilous  pe- 
destal. 

For  some  moments  he  danced  about  upon  this  dangerous  dei»,  expect- 
ing every  instant  to  feel  the  sharp  sting  of  a  bite.  Any  one  who  could 
have  looked  on  him  at  that  crisis  would  have  seen  a  face  white  with  hor- 
ror, eyes  starting  from  their  watery  sockets,  and  his  dripping  hair  and 
whiskers  doing  their  best  to  stand  on  end. 

Through  his  dark  sky  of  dread  a  gleam  of  light  flashed  upon  his  spirits  : 
he  remembered  having  heard  that  in  Jamaica  there  is  no  poisonous  ser- 
pents. 

Still  it  was  but  a  spark  of  consolation.  If  the  reptile  could  not  sting. 
it  could  bite ;  and,  being  such  an  enormous  creature  as  to  cover  with 
its  coils  the  whole  floor  of  his  cylindric  chamber,  its  bite  should  be  a  for- 
midable  one. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  single  snake  ?  Perhaps  there  vms  a 
whole  family  of  serpents,  crawling  one  over  another,  and  wreathing  fan- 
tastic figures  of  eight  beneath  his  feet? 

If  go — and  this  was  probable  enough — he  might  be  bitten  by  all ;  r*' 
peatedly — torn  to  pieces — devoured  ! 

Wha*  matter  whether  they  were  poisonous  or  not  ?  He  might  as  well 
perish  from  their  fangs,  as  by  their  teeth ! 

Fortunately  it  was  for  Smythje  that  the  snakes — for  his  conjecture  tha* 
mere  were  more  than  one  was  correct — fortunate  for  him  that  they  were 
still  half  asleep,  else  the  danger  he  dreaded  might  have  come  to  pap. 
As  it  was,  the  whole  baud  of  reptiles  had  just  been  aroused  from  a  state 
of  torpidity — the  wash  of  cold  rain  having  reached  them  in  their  crushed 
cave,  and  scattered  the  mutual  coil  in  which  they  had  been  closely  slumb- 
ering. Still  only  half  awakened,  in  the  confusion  of  their  ideas,  they 
could  not  distinguish  friend  or  foe  ;  and  to  this  was  Mr.  Smythje  indebt- 
ed for  the  circumstance  that  his  skin,  and  ^venhis  silk  stockings,  still  r» 
mained  intact. 


A.   DAKGEROtTS   DANCE.  tjl 

As  it  was,  lie  escaped  without  a  single  bite — though  without  Knowing 
the  reason. 

Notwithstanding  his  having  remained  so  long  untouched,  his  dread  had 
by  no  means  diminished.  On  the  contrary,  the  thought  of  being  eaten 
up  alive — which  succeeded  that  of  being  stung  by  poisoned  fangs — still 
continued  his  terror,  and  incited  him  to  fresh  efforts  to  escape  from  hig 
perilous  position. 

Only  one  mode  suggested  itself  :  to  clamber  up  the  "  chimney"  as  far 
as  lie  could  g%  and  by  that  means  get  out  of  reach  of  the  reptiles. 

On  the  instant  of  his  conceiving  this  new  design,  he  sprang  upward, 
shaking  the  serpent  coils  from  his  feet ;  and,  after  a  few  seconds  of 
scratching  and  scrambling,  he  arrived  at  an  elevation  of  some  ten  feet 
from  the  bottom  of  the  tree. 

Here  a  slight  projection  offered  a  tolerable  support  for  his  posteriors  ; 
and  setting  his  toes  well  against  the  opposite  side,  he  did  the  best  he 
could  to  sustain  himself  in  position. 

It  was  an  irksome  effort,  and  could  not  have  lasted  long — as  to  his  con- 
sternation he  soon  discovered. 

His  strength  would  soon  give  way,  his  toes  become  cramped  and  nerve- 
less ;  and  then,  losing  his  hold,  he  must  inevitably  drop  down  among  the 
monsters  below — who,  perhaps,  in  a  second  collision,  with  him,  would  be 
less  chary  about  using  their  teeth  ? 

The  prospect  of  such  a  terrible  fate  stimulated  him  to  put  forth  all  his 
strength  in  preserving  his  balance  and  his  place — at  tl'e  same  time  that  it 
drew  from  him  cries  of  the  keenest  anguish. 

His  strength  could  not  have  saved  him,  but  his  ^ries  at  this  crisis 
proved  his  friend.  The  former  was  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  he  was  on 
the  point  of  letting  go  his  hold,  when,  just  then,  an  object  came  before 
his  upturned  eyes  that  determined  him  to  hold  out  a  little  longer,  even 
should  his  toes  be  torn  out  of  their  joints. 

Above  him,  and  half-filling  the  orifice  of  the  hollow,  appeared  an  enor- 
mous head,  with  a  face  black  as  Erebus,  and  two  yellowish-white  eyes 
shining  in  the  midst  of  it.  No  other  feature  was  at  first  seen  ;  but  pre- 
sently a  double  row  of  great  white  teeth  appeared,  gleaming  between  a 
pair  of  freshly-opened  purplish  lips,  of  a  massive,  cartilaginous  structure. 

In  the  confusion  of  his  senses  Smythje  was,  for  the  moment,  Inclined 
to  believe  himself  betweeen  two  demons — one  below,  in  the  shape  of  a 
monstrous  serpent,  and  the  other  above  him,  in  human  form  :  for  the  grin- 
ning white  teeth,  and  yellow  eyeballs  rolling  in  sockets  of  sable  ground, 
presented  an  appearance  sufficiently  demoniac. 

Of  the  two  demons,  however,  he  preferred  the  company  of  the  one 
who  bore  something  of  his  own  shape  ;  and  when  a  huge  black  man — like 
the  trunk  of  a  young  tree — with  the  hand  of  a  Titan  attached  to  it.  wa§ 
stretched  down  to  him,  he  did  not  decline  to  take  ;  but  eagerly  clutched 
at  the  gigantic  paw  thus  proffered,  he  felt  himself  raised  upward,  at 
lightly  as  if  elevated  upon  the  extremtiy  of  a  "  see-saw !" 

In  another  instant  he  found  himself  upon  the  summit  of  the  dead- 
wood,  his  deliverer  standing  by  his  side. 

So  much  light  rushing  all  at  once  into  the  eyes  of  the  rescued  Smythje, 
instead  of  enabling  him  to  see  distinctly,  quite  blinded  him  and  it  wan 


152  *  DANGEROUS  DANOlB. 

only  by  the  touch  that  he  knew  a  man  was  by  his  side — a  man  of  colot- 
sal  size,  and  nearly  naked. 

All  this  Smythje  had  surmissed  by  the  feel;  for  so  dizzy  was  he  on  em- 
erging from  the  hollow  tree,  that  the  man  had  been  compelled  to  hc*d  him 
some  minutes  in  a  sort  of  embrace  to  prevent  his  staggering  over 
Smythje,  in  groping  about  the  breast  of  his  gigantic  deliverer,  had  come 
in  contact  with  various  straps  and  strings,  from  which  sundry  horns  and 
pouches  were  suspended — and  from  this  he  concluded  that  the  man  wa* 
a  hnnter. 

Very  soon  Mr.  Smythje's  eyes  became  sufficiently  strengthened  to  bear 
the  light ;  and  then  he  saw,  in  full  length,  the  individual  who  had  res- 
cued him  from  his  perilous  dilemma.  He  saw,  too,  that  the  man  was  not 
alone  ;  for,  on  looking  down  from  his  elevated  position,  he  beheld  a  dozen 
others  standing  around  the  tree,  all,  or  nearly  all,  with  black  skins — all, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  similarly  armed,  costumed,  and  accoutred. 

They  could  not  all  be  hunters  ?  He  had  been  mistaken  in  his  first  sur- 
mise ?  His  deliverer  was  not  a  hunter,  but  a  runaway  negro — a  robber  ? 
He  had  fallen  among  a  band  of  brigands — black  brigands  moreover  ;  for 
what  other  kind  could  he  expect  to  encounter  in  the  mountains  of 
Jamaica? 

"  Wobbers  they  shcwly  are  !"  muttered  Smythje  to  himself. 

If  robbers,  they  appear  at  least  to  be  a  merry  band  ;  for  no  sooner  did 
the  sportsman  stand  erect  on  the  summit  of  the  stump — with  the  inten- 
tion of  descending — than  a  loud  chorus  of  laughter  hailed  him  from 
below,  in  which  his  gigantic  deliverer  not  only  joined,  but  played  first 
trombone ! 

Although  more  than  half  believing  that  the  joke  was  at  his  own  ex 
pense,  Mr.  Smythje  was  well  pleased  to  find  the  robbers  in  this  merry 
mood.  From  such  funny  fellows  he  need  not  fear  any  ill-treatment,  far 
ther;  perhaps,  than  to  be  stripped  of  his  purse,  arms,  and  accoutrement*. 
His  clothes,  in  their  present  condition,  they  would  hardly  covet. 

The  better  to  conciliate  them  by  being  beforehand  with  their  demands 
Bmythje,  as  soon  as  safely  landed  on  terra  firma,  pulled  out  his  purse,  and 
commenced  distributing  its  contents  among  his  new  acquaintances — giv- 
ing to  his  deliverer,  under  whose  special  protection  he  now  placed  him- 
self, a  double  share  of  the  cash. 

This  free  surrender  seemed  to  have  a  happy  effect.  The  robber  no 
longer  laughed  at  their  captive,  but  hastened  to  show  him  all  the  polite* 
ness  in  their  power.  One  of  them — a  young  fellow  in  light  yellow 
colour,  who  appeared  to  be  their  captain — even  refused  to  accept  any 
thing,  declining  the  proffered  douceur  with  a  dignified  grace  that  some- 
what astonished  Smythje.  The  latter,  however,  was  determined  not  to 
be  outdone  in  politeness,  and  suspecting  that  the  gift  was  rejected  on 
account  of  its  being  money,  immediately  substituted  for  the  coin  his 
handsome,  London-made  shot-belt  and  powder-flask,  which,  throughout 
all  his  struggles,  had  clung  to  his  shoulders.  This  proved  a  more  ac- 
ceptable offering  to  the  robber  chieftain — who,  on  receiving  it  from  the 
hands  of  the  donor,  acknowledged  the  present  in  a  becoming  and  appro- 
priate speech. 

Smythje,  now  seeing  that  no  further  harm  was  likely  to  be  done  to  him 


A   DANGE&OUS  DANCE.  153 

fa^ldly  recovered  his  habitual  equanimity  ;  and,  at  the  request  of  th« 
robber  chieftain,  explained  how  he  had  got  entrapped  in  the  hollow  tree, 
by  giving  a  full  account  of  his  adventure,  from  the  time  he  commenced 
•talking  the  "  wild  turkey,"  up  to  the  moment  of  his  deliverance. 

HIB,  bizarre  audience  listened  with  a  vivid  interest — especially  to  that 
part  of  the  story  which  gave  them  the  information  that  there  were  wild 
turkeys  in  the  woods  of  Jamaica — a  point  upon  which  they  appeared 
rather  incredulous. 

As  soon  as  Smythje  had  finished  his  narrative,  the  robber  captain  was 
<*een  making  a  sign,  and  whispering  some  words  to  one  of  his  followers 
— the  most  diminutive  of  the  band. 

The  latter,  in  obedience  to  the  order  thus  given,  proceeded  to  draw  on 
a  pair  of  large  goatskin  gloves,  or  gauntlets  rathei ,  that  reached  quite  up 
to  his  elbows  ;  and  then,  without  further  delay,  he  "  speeled"  up  to  the 
summit  of  the  dead  wood. 

Fastening  a  cord,  which  he  had  carried  up  with  him,  around  the  top 
of  the  stump,  he  fearlessly  let  nimself  down  into  the  dark,  snake-tenanted 
chamber,  which  Mr.  Smythje  had  been  so  glad  to  get  out  of  1 

The  little  fellow  had  not  been  more  than  half  a  minute  out  of  sight, 
when  a  glittering  object  was  seen  projected  above  the  top  of  the  stump, 
It  was  of  serpent  form,  and  bright  yellow  colour.  Wriggling  and  writh- 
ing, it  hung,  for  a  moment,  suspended  in  the  air  ;  and  then,  yielding  to 
the  laws  of  gravitation,  it  came  down  with  a  thump  upon  the  turf.  Its 
large  size,  and  its  lines  of  black  and  gold,  rendered  it  easy  of  identifica- 
tion as  the  "  yellow  snake"  of  Jamaica  (chilabothrus  inornatu*}. 

Scarce  had  it  touched  the  ground  when  a  second  and  similar  projectile 
was  ejected  from  the  hollow  stump  ;  and  then  a  third-— and  another,  and 
yet  another,  until  no  less  than  a  dozen  of  these  hideous  reptiles  lay  scat- 
tered over  the  grass ! 

The  blacks  killed  them  as  they  came  down — -not  from  any  particular 
spite  at  the  serpents,  nor  even  with  the  design  of  destroying  them  as 
"  vermin."  On  the  contrary,  each,  as  it  was  deprived  of  life,  was  care- 
fully stowed  away  in  one  of  the  wicker  cutacoos,  which  carried  the  com- 
missariat of  these  forest-rangers. 

After  the  dead  wood  had  been  delivered  of  its  last  snake,  an  object  of 
a  far  different  character  was  seen  to  issue  forth  in  a  similar  manner.  It 
was  a  misshapen  mass,  of  a  dirty  buff  colour,  and  proved,  upon  inspec- 
tion, to  be  one  of  Mr.  Smythje's  boots,  still  incased  in  its  fawnskin  cover- 
ing !  Its  mate  soon  followed ;  and  then,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  the 
blacks,  the  "  wild  turkey,"  which  had  led  the  sportsman  into  his  deplora- 
ble dilemma,  and  which  now,  with  half  its  plumage  gone,  and  the  other 
half  "  drooked"  and  bedagglsd,  offered  but  a  poor  chance  for  the  gar- 
nishing of  his  game-bag. 

Smythje,  however,  too  well  contended  with  escaping  with  his  life, 
thought  no  more  of  his  game-bag,  nor  of  anything  else,  but  getting  back 
to  Mount  Welcome  by  the  shortest  route  possible. 

His  boots  being  restored  to  him,  he  lost  no  time  in  drawing  them  on, 
leaving  the  bottoms  of  his  trousers  in  the  companionship  of  the  worth- 
less "  turkey,"  which  the  robbers,  better  acquainted  with  tht  ornithology 
of  Jamaica,  assured  him  waa.  after  all,  no  turkey,  but  only  a  turkey-bu* 
card — a  John  Crow— *in  short,  a  stinking  vulture  I 


154  QtTASIIir   TX   A   QUANDARY. 


To  his  grea1-  joy,  and  not  a  li'ile  to  his  astonishment,  the  bandits  mad« 
no  attempt  to  s«,rip  him  of  aught  save  his  money  ;  and  that  he  had  deliv- 
ered up  without  waiting  for  them  to  demand  it.  Even  his  valuable  gold 
repeater  was  not  taken  from  him  ;  and  not  only  was  his  gun  restored, 
but  a  guide  was  furnished  by  the  polite  robber  chieftain  to  conduct  him 
on  his  road  to  Mount  Welcome  ! 

So  grateful  was  the  humiliated  Smythje  for  the  kind  treatment  he  had 
experienced  at  the  hands  of  these  black-skinned  but  gentle  brigands,  that 
on  parting  company  with  them  he  shook  hands  with  every  individual  of 
the  band  ;  as  he  did  so,  promising  one  and  all,  that  should  he  ever  heal 
of  them  being  in  any  danger  of  having  their  necks  stretched,  he  would 
use  his  utmost  influence  to  prevent  that  inconvenient  catastrophe. 

The  Maroons  (for  these  were  the  robbers  into  whose  hands  Smythje 
had  fallen,  Quaco  being  his  deliverer),  though  somewhat  mystified  by  the 
remark,  graciously  thanked  him  for  whatever  it  meant  ;  and,  after  once 
more  shaking  hands  with  their  captain,  the  pseudo-sportsman  took  nil 
departure. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

QUASHIE     IN     A     QUANDARY. 

DURING  all  this  time,  where  was  Quashie  ?    What  was  become  of  him  ? 

Mr.  Smythje  did  not  know,  and  no  longer  did  he  care.  Too  glad  to 
get  altogether  away  from  the  scene  of  his  unpleasant  adventure,  he  made 
no  inquiry  about  his  negligent  squire ;  nor  did  he  even  think  of  going 
back  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  him.  The  road  by  which  his  new 
guide  was  conducting  him  led  in  quite  another  direction.  As  to  the 
empty  game-bag  left  with  Quashie,  the  sportsman  cared  not  what  became 
of  that ;  and  as  for  his  hunting-knife  and  brandy  flask,  no  doubt  the 
darkey  would  see  to  them. 

In  this  conjecture  Mr.  Smythje  hit  the  nail  upon  the  head — at  least  so 
fer  as  regarded  tfce  brandy-flask.  It  was  by  seeing  too  well  to  it,  that 
Quashie  had  lost  all  thought  of  everything  else — not  only  of  the  duties 
he  had  been  appointed  to  perform,  but  of  the  whole  earth  and  everything 
upon  it.  The  buckra  had  not  been  twenty  minutes  out  of  his  presence, 
when  Quashie,  by  repeated  application  of  the  brandy-flask  to  his  lips, 
brought  his  optical  organs  into  such  a  condition,  that  he  could  not  have 
told  the  differ ence  between  a  turkey  and  a  turkey-buzzard  any  more  than 
Mr.  Smythje  himself. 

The  drinking  of  the  eau  de  vie  had  an  ehectupon  the  negro  the  very  re- 
Terse  of  what  it  would  have  had  upon  an  Irishman.  Instead  of  making 
him  noisy  and  quarrelsome,  it  produced  a  tendency  towards  tranquility — 
BO  much  so  that  Quashie,  in  less  than  five  minutes  after  his  last  flask 
coggled  over  upon  the  grass,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

So  soundly  slept  he,  that  not  only  did  he  fail  to  hear  the  report  ot 
Sinythje's  gun,  but  the  discharge  of  a  whole  battery  of  field-pieces  close 
to  his  ear  would  not,  at  that  moment,  have  awakened  him. 

It  is  scarce  possible  to  say  how  long  Quashie  would  have  continued  in 


tN    A    gtUXDilY.  155 

this  state  of  half-sleep,  half-inebriety,  hud  he  been  left  undisturbed  ;  noi 
was  he  restored  to  consciousness  by  human  agency,  or  living  creature  of 
any  kind.  That  which  brought  him  to  himself — waking  and  partially 
sobering  him,  at  the  same  time — was  the  rain,  which,  descending  like  a 
cold  shower-bath  on  his  semi-naked  skin,  caused  him  to  start  to  his  feet 

Quashie,  however,  had  enjoyed  more  than  an  hour's  sleep,  before  the 
rain  began  to  fall ;  and  this  may  account  for  the  eau  de  vie  having  in  some 
measure  lost  its  influence  when  he  awoke. 

He  was  sensible  that  he  had  done  wrong  in  drinking  the  buckra's 
brandy  ;  and  as  the  temporary  courage  with  which  it  had  inspired  him 
was  now  quite  gone,  he  dreaded  an  encounter  with  the  white  "  gemman." 
He  would  have  shunned  it,  had  he  known  how ;  but  he  knew  very  well 
that  to  slink  home  by  himself  would  bring  down  upon  him  the  wrath  of 
massa  at  Mount  Welcome — pretty  sure  to  be  accompanied  by  a  couple  of 
dozen  from  the  cartwhip. 

After  a  while's  reflection,  he  concluded  that  his  most  prudent  'plan 
would  be  to  wait  for  the  young  buckra's  return,  and  tell  the  best  tale  he 
could. 

To  say  he  had  been  searching  for  him,  and  that  was  how  he  had  spent 
the  time — was  the  story  that  suggested  itself  to  the  troubled  imagination 
of  Quashie. 

To  account  for  the  disappearance  of  the  cognac — for  he  had  drank 
every  drop  of  it — the  darkey  had  bethought  him  of  another  little  bit  of 
fabrication — suggested,  no  doubt,  by  the  mischance  that  had  befallen  the 
bottle  of  claret.  He  intended  to  tell  the  grand  buckra — and  "  thrape"  it 
down  his  throat  if  need  be — that  he,  the  buckra,  had  left  out  the  stopper 
of  the  flask,  and  that  the  brandy  had  followed  the  example  set  by  the 
"  heel  tap"  of  wine. 

Thus  fortified  with  a  plausible  scheme,  Quhshie  awaited  the  return  of 
the  buckra  sportsman. 

The  sky  cleared  after  a  time,  but  no  buckra  came  ;  nor  yet,  after  a  con- 
siderable spell  of  fine  weather  had  transpired,  did  he  make  his  appear- 
ance. 

Quashie  became  impatient,  and  slightly  anxious.  Perhaps  the  English 
"  gemman"  had  lost  himself  in  the  woods  ;  and  if  so,  what  would  be  done 
to  him,  the  guide  ?  Massa  Vaughan  would  be  sure  to  punish  him  ?  In 
fancy  he  could  hear  the  crack  of  the  cartwhip  resounding  afar  off  ovei 
the  hills. 

After  waiting  a  while  longer,  he  determined  to  put  an  end  to  his  ani. 
iety  by  going  in  search  of  the  sportsman ;  and  taking  up  the  empty  bag, 
along  with  the  equally  empty  flask,  and  the  hunting  knife,  he  set  forth. 

He  had  seen  Mr.  Smythje  go  towards  the  glade,  and  so  far  he  could  fol- 
low his  trail ;  but  once  arrived  at  the  open  ground,  he  was  completely  at 
fault. 

He  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  direction  to  take. 

After  pausing  to  reflect,  he  took  the  right — that  which  wotdd  conduct 
him  to  the  dead  wood,  the  top  of  which  was  visible  from  the  point 
whf'TO  he  had  entered  the  glade. 

It  was  riot  altogether  accident  that  conducted  him  thither  ;  but  rather 
because  he  heard,  or  fancied  he  heard,  voices  in  that  direction. 

As  ho  drew  nearer  to  the  decapitated  tree,  a  glittering  object  on  tbt 


QTTAStttE   ttf   A 

ground  caught  his  eye.     He  halted,  thinking  it  might  be  a  snake — a  cftMk 
ture  of  which  most  plantation  negroes  have  a  wholesome  dread. 

On  scrutinising  the  object  more  closely,  Quashie  was  surprised  to  per- 
ceive that  the  glittering  object  was  a  gun  ;  and  on  a  still  nearer  acquaint- 
ance with  it,  he  saw  that  it  was  the  gun  of  the  buckra  sportsman! 

It  was  lying  upon  the  grass  near  the  bottom  of  the  dead-wood.  What 
was  it  doing  there  ? 

Where  was  the  buckra  himself?  Had  some  accident  happened  to  himf 
j  Why  had  he  abandoned  his  gun  ?  Had  he  shot  himself  ?  Or  had  some 
[body  else  shot  him?  Or  what  on  earth  had  befallen  him? 

Just  at  that  moment  the  most  lugubrious  of  sounds  fell  upon  his  eat 
It  was  a  groan,  long-drawn  and  hollow — as  if  some  tortured  spirit  wag 
about  taking  its  departure  from  the  earth  I  It  resembled  the  voice  of  a 
man,  and  yet  it  differed  from  this  1  It  was  like  the  voice  of  some  one 
speaking  from  the  interior  of  a  tomb  1 

The  darkey  stood  horrified — his  black  epidermis  turning  instantaneous- 
ly to  an  ashen-grey  colour,  quick  as  the  change  of  a  cameleon. 

He  would  have  taken  to  his  heels,  but  a  thought  restrained  him.  It 
might  be  the  buckra  still  alive,  and  in  trouble  ?  In  that  case  he,  Qnashie, 
would  be  punished  for  deserting  him. 

The  voice  appeared  to  issue  from  behind  the  dead-wood.  Whoever 
uttered  it  must  be  there.  Perhaps  the  sportsman  lay  wounded  upon  the 
other  side  ? 

Quashie  screwed  up  his  courage  as  high  as  it  would  go,  and  commenced 
moving  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  stump.  He  proceeded  cautiously, 
step  by  step,  scrutinising  the  ground  as  he  went. 

He  reached  the  other  side.  He  looked  all  over  the  place.  Nobody 
there — neither  dead  nor  wounded  ! 

There  were  no  bushes  to  conceal  an  object  so  large  as  the  body  of  a 
man — at  least,  not  within  twenty  yards  of  the  stump.  The  groan  could 
not  have  come  from  beyond  that  distance  ? 

Nor  yet  could  a  man  be  hidden  under  the  trellis  of  climbing  plants 
that  hung  around  the  underwood.  Quashie  had  still  enough  courage  loft 
to  peep  among  them  and  see.  There  was  nobody  there ! 

At  this  moment  a  second  groan  sounded  in  the  darkey's  ear,  increasing 
his  t&rror.  It  was  just  such  an  one  as  the  first,  long  protracted  and  se- 
pulchral, as  if  issuing  from  the  bottom  of  a  well. 

Again  it  came  from  behind  the  stump ;  but  this  time  from  the  side 
I  which  he  had  just  left,  and  where  he  had  seen  no  one !  . 

Had  the  wounded  man  crawled  round  to  the  other  side  while  he,  Quashi<s 
was  proceeding  in  the  opposite  direction  ? 

This  was  the  thought  that  occurred  to  him  ;  and  to  determine  th» 
point,  he  passed  back  to  the  side  whence  be  had  come — this  time  going 
more  rapidly,  lest  the  mysterious  moaner  might  again  escape  him. 

On  reaching  the  point  from  which  he  had  originally  set  out,  he  was 
more  surprised  than  ever.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  The  gu~«  still  iay 
in  its  place,  as  he  had  loft  it.  No  one  appeared  to  have  touched  it — no 
cue  was  there! 

Again  the  voice — this  time,  however,  in  a  shrill  treble,  and  more  re« 
sembling  a  shriek  1  It  gave  Quashie  a  fresh  start  ;  while  the  sweat  spurt 
ed  out  from  his  forehead,  and  ran  down  his  cheeks  like  huge 


A   SCARCITY  OF  TROUSERS.  ,    157 

The  shriek,  however,  was  more  human-like — more  in  the  voice  of  a 
;  and  this  gave  the  darkey  sufficient  courage  to  stand  his  ground  a 
little  longer.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  voice  came  from  the  other 
•ide  of  the  dead-wood ;  and  onoe  more  he  essayed  to  get  his  eyes  upon 
the  utterer. 

Still  in  the  belief  that  the  individual,  whoever  it  was,  and  for  whatever 
purpose,  was  dodging  round  the  tree,  Quashie  now  started  forward  with 
a  determination  not  to  stop  till  he  had  run  the  dodger  to  earth.  For  thia 

Enrpose  he  commenced  circling  around  the  stump,  going  first  at  a  trot ; 
ut  hearing  now  and  then  the  groans  and  shrieks — and  always  on  the  op- 
posite side — he  increased  his  pace,  until  he  ran  with  all  the  speed  that 
lay  in  his  legs. 

He  kept  up  this  exercise,  till  he  had  made  several  turns  around  the 
tree  ;  when,  at  length,  he  became  convinced  that  no  human  being  could 
be  running  before  him  without  nis  seeing  him. 

The  conviction  brought  him  to  an  abrupt  halt,  and  a  quick  reflection. 
If  not  a  human  being,  it  must  be  a  "  duppy  or  de  debbil  hisself  1" 

The  evidence  that  it  was  one  or  the  other  had  now  become  overpower- 
ing. QuashijB  could  resist  it  no  longer. 

"  Duppy!  Jumbe  !  de  debbil !"  cried  he,  as  with  chatteaing  teeth,  and 
eyeballs  liko  to  start  from  their  sockets,  he  shot  off  from  the  stump,  and 
"  streaked  it"  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Welcome,  as  fast  as  a  pair  of 
trembling  limbs  were  capable  of  carrying  him. 


CHAPTER  L. 

A  SCARCITY  OF  TBOU8BB8. 

FOLTX>WINO  the  guide  which  the  robber  captain  had  appointed  to  conduct 
him,  Mr.  Smythje  trudged  unhappily  homeward. 

How  different  his  craven,  crestfallen  look,  from  the  swell,  swaggering 
Bportsman  of  the  morning !  and  the  condition  of  his  person  was  not 
more  dilapidated  than  that  of  his  spirit. 

It  was  not  the  past  either  that  was  pressing  upon  it.  He  had  suffered 
no  material  injury  to  grieve  over.  The  damage  done  to  his  fine  dress,  or 
the  coin  he  had  been  compelled  to  disburse  among  the  bandits — as  he  still 
considered  them — these  were  trifles  to  a  rich  man  like  him.  His  regrets 
were  not  on  that  score,  nor  retrospective  in  any  way.  They  were  diro.ct- 
•d  to  something,, before  him,  altogether  prospective. 

And  what  was  that  something  ?  It  was  no  longer  the  disgrace  of  re 
turning  with  an  empty  game-bag,  but  the  chagrin,  which  he  expected  to 
have  to  undergo,  presenting  himself  at  Mount  Welcome  in  the  "  pickie" 
in  which  his  adventure  had  left  him. 

He  was  now,  when  near  the  house,  even  in  a  more  ludicrous  plight  than 
<vrhen  he  had  parted  from  the  jocose  gentry  of  the  forest :  for  the  rain, 
that  had  long  since  ceased,  nad  been  succeeded  by  a  blazing  hot  suiij  and 
the  atmosphere  acting  upon  what  remained  of  his  wet  fawnskin  trousers, 
caused  them  to  shrink  until  the  ragged  edges  had  crept  up  to  mid-thigh; 
thus  leaving  a  large  space  of  thin  k^oek-kneed  legs  between  them  and 
tfce  tops  of  his  boots  ! 


158  A   SCARCITY   OF   TROUSERS. 

With  all  his  vanity  about  personal  appearance,  Smytlye  rather  suspect* 
ed  that  he  was  defective  in  the  legs.  There  lay  his  weak  point.  For 
that  reason  he  had  long  since  eschewed  the  habit  of  Hessian  boots,  the 
most  graceful  of  all  species  of  chaussure,  excepting,  perhaps,  the  sandal. 
Smythje  hated  the  sight  of  them,  as  did  every  spindle-legged  biped  who 
was  compelled  to  wear  them,  and  hence  their  extinction.  Smythje  hated 
breeches,  too,  as  leading  to  tho  same  result — the  exposure  of  his  weak 
points. 

/     No  doubt  it  was  that  antipathy  that  had  led  to  his  innovation  in  the 
th  ooting  dress  already  described  ;  and  which  on  the  present  occasion  had 
|  Droved  to  be  a  grievous  mistake. 

Had  the  fawskins  kept  their  place,  and  stood  where  he  had  cut  them 
off,  there  would  have  been  nothing  particular  to  be  remarked — at  least, 
nothing  so  very  ridiculous.  They  migh  have  resembled  the  "  trews"  of 
a  Highlander,  or  even  a  pair  of  loose  buckskin  breeches — a  costume  be- 
coming enough  for  a  sportsman.  But  shrunk  as  they  now  were,  and  ex- 
posing the  crooked  skeleton-like  form  of  the  cockney's  limbs,  they  made 
him  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  "  guy." 

Smythje  was  more  than  half  aware  of  this  ;  and  at  that  moment  would 
have  made  a  book-keeper  on  his  estate  of  any  man  who  should  have  pro- 
vided him  with  a  pair  of  pantaloons.  It  was  only  these  he  wanted.  The 
rest  of  his  costume,  though  sadly  deteriorated  since  starting  out  in  the 
morning,  was  still  well  enough — at  all  events,  it  was  not  ludicrous.  The 
trousers  alone  were  likely  to  get  him  into  disgrace. 

It  was  an  appaling  prospect  that  lay  before  the  ci-devant  sportsman : 
for  he  was  now  fairly  entitled  to  the  qualifying  phrase.  Perhaps  some 
would  be  disposed  to  use  the  less  creditable  appellation,  soi-disant. 

It  was  this  that  he  dreaded.  An  empty  game-bag — an  absurd  adven- 
ture, which  had  ended  in  placing  him  in  such  a  ludicrous  plight.  Verily, 
the  prospect  was  unpleasant — appalling.  How  could  he  appear  before 
his  friends  at  Mount  Welcome  ?  For  Mr.  Vaughan  he  cared  not  so  much; 
but  Miss  Vaughan — Kate — ah  1  Kate — how  was  he  to  conceal  his  situa- 
tion from  her  ?  That  was  the  secret  of  his  solicitude — of  his  prospective 
chagrin. 

Could  he  reach  the  house,  and  steal  to  his  own  chamber  unseen  ?  What 
chance  was  there  of  his  doing  so? 

On  reflection,  not  much.  Mount  Welcome,  like  all  other  mansions  in 
Jamaica,  was  a  cage — open  on  every  side.  It  was  almost  beyond  the 
bounds  of  probability  that  he  could  enter  it  unobserved. 
I  Still  he  could  try,  and  on  the  success  of  that  trial  rested  his  only  hope, 
Oh  !  for  that  grand  secret  known  only  to  the  jealous  Juno — the  secret  of 
rendering  oneself  invisible  1  What  would  Smythje  not  have  given  for  a 
ten  minutes'  hire  of  that  Carthaginian  cloud  ? 

The  thought  was  really  in  his  mind  ;  for  Smythje,  like  all  young  Eng 
ashmen  of  good  family,  had  &uidied  the  classics. 

The  idea  was  suggestive.  If  there  was  no  probability  of  being  pro- 
vided with  the  nimbus  of  Juno,  there  was  the  possibility  of  shadowing 
himself  under  the  nimbus  of  night.  Darkness  once  on,  he  might  enter  the 
house,  reach  his  chamber  unperceived,  arid  thus  escape  the  unpleaaami 
exposure  he  so  much  dread P<?  * 


A   SCARCITY   OF   TROUSEBS.  159 

Smythje  stopped,  looked  at  his  guide,  looked  at  the  sun,  and  lastly  a* 
his  naked  knees — now  from  the  enfeebled  state  of  his  limbs  leaning 
against  each  other. 

Mount  Welcome  was  in  sight.  The  guide  was  about  to  leave  him  j 
and,  therefore,  in  whatever  way  he  might  act,  there  would  be  no  witness. 

Just  then  the  Maroon  made  his  adieu,  and  Smythje  was  left  to  himself. 

Once  more  he  scanned  the  sun,  and  consulted  his  watch.    In  two  hour* 

it  would  be  twilight.     The  crepusculous  interval  would  enable  himtoap- 

'.  preach  the  house  ;  and  in  the  first  moments  of  darkness — before   th* 

lamps  were  lit — he  might  enter  unobserved — or,  at  all  events,  his  plight 

might  not  very  plainly  be  perceived. 

The  scheme  was  feasible,  and  having  determined  to  adopt  it,  Smythje 
cowered  down  in  the  covert  and  awaited  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

He  counted  the  hours,  the  half-hours,  and  minutes — he  listened  to  the 
voices  coming  up  from  the  negro  villaue — he  watched  the  bright-winged 
birds  that  fluttered  among  the  branches  over  head,  and  envied  them  their 
complete  plumage. 

Notwithstanding  many  rare  sights  and  sweet  sounds  that  reached  him 
the  two  hours  spent  in  his  secret  lair  were  not  passed  pleasantly — solici- 
tude about  the  success  of  his  scheme  robbing  him  of  all  zest  for  the  en- 
joyment of  that  fair  scene  that  surrounded  him. 

The  hour  of  action  drew  nigh.  The  sun  went  down  over  the  opposite 
ridge,  where  lay  Montagu  Castle,  his  owu  domain ;  the  twilight,  like  a 
purple  curtain,  was  gently  drawn  over  the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome.  It 
was  time  to  start. 

Smythje  rose  to  his  feet ;  and,  after  making  a  reconnoisance  of  the 
ground  before  him,  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

He  aimed  at  keeping  as  much  as  possible  under  cover  of  the  woods; 
and  this  he  was  enabled  to  do — the  pimento  groves  on  that  side  stretch- 
ing down  to  the  shrubbery  that  surrounded  the  dwelling. 

He  had  got  past  the  negro  village — keeping  it  upon  his  right — without 
being  observed.  To  both  the  "  quarter"  and  the  sugar  works  he  gave  as 
wide  a  berth  as  the  nature  of  the  ground  would  permit.  He  succeeded 
in  reaching  the  platform  on  which  the  house  stood — so  far  unperceived. 

But  the  moment  of  peril  was  not  yet  past :  the  dangerous  ground  still 
lay  before  him,  and  had  still  to  be  traversed.  This  was  the  open  parttrre 
in  front  of  the  house — for  to  the  front  his  path  had  conducted  him. 

It  wa»  dusk,  and  no  one  appeared — at  least  he  could  see  no  one — either 
on  the  stair-landing  or  in  the  windows  of  the  great  hall.  So  far  good. 

A  rush  for  the  open  doorway,  and  then  on  to  his  own  chamber,  where 
Thorns  Would  soon  clothe  hin  in  a  more  becoming  costume. 

He  started  to  make  the  rw-h  ;  and  had  succeeded  in  getting  half-way 
across  the  parterre,  when  all  at  once,  a  crowd  of  people,  carrying  large, 
flaming  torches  above  their  heads,  appeared  coming  from  the  '•ear  of  the 
dwelling. 

They  were  the  domestics  and  field  hands  of  the  plantation,  with  Trusty, 
the  overseer,  at  their  head. 

One  might  have  fancied  that  they  were  setting  out  upon  some  cere- 
monious procession  ;  but  their  hurried  advance,  and  the  presence  of 
Quashie  trotting  in  the  lead,  proclaimed  a  different  purpose. 

divined  their  errand      Thev  wero  going  in  search  of 


HERBERT  IN  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY. 

The  sight  filled  him  with  despair.  The  torch-bearers  had  anticipated 
him.  They  had  already  reached  the  front  of  the  house,  and  the  glare  of 
their  great  flambeaux  illuminated  every  object,  as  if  a  new  sun  had  sud- 
denly shot  up  athwart  the  sky  1 

There  was  no  chance  of  successfully  running  the  gauntlet  under  that 
bright  flame  :  Smylhje  saw  riot  the  slightest. 

He  stopped  in  his  tracks.  He  would  have  retreated  back  to  the  tush 
es,  and  there  awaited  the  departure  of  the  torch-bearers,  but  le  feared 
that  his  retrogade  movement  would  attract  their  eyes  upon  him ;  and 
then  all  would  be  over — his  adventure  terminating  in  the  most  undesir- 
able manner. 

Instead  of  retreating,  therefore,  he  stood  where  he  had  stopped — fixed 
and  immobile,  as  if  pinned  to  the  spot. 

At  that  moment  two  figures  appeared  on  the  top  of  the  stairway,  in 
the  brilliant  light  easily  recognisable  as  the  planter  and  his  daughter. 
The  maid  Tola  was  behind  them.  Mr.  Vaughan  had  come  out  to  give 
some  direction  about  the  search. 

All  three  stood  facing  the  crowd  of  torch-bearers,  and,  of  course,  front- 
ing towards  Smythje. 

The  planter  was  just  opening  his  lips  to  speak,  when  a  scream  from 
Yola,  echoed  by  his  daughter,  interrupted  him.  The  sharp  eyes  of  the 
Foolah  had  fallen  upon  Smythje,  whose  wan  white  face,  shining  under 
the  light  of  the  links,  resembled  those  of  the  statues  that  stood  at  differ- 
ent places  over  the  parterre. 

Smythje  was  among  the  shubbery  ;  and  as  the  girl  knew  that  no  statue 
stood  there,  the  unexpected  apparition  had  elicited  her  cry  of  alarm. 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  upon  the  spot ;  and  the  torch-bearers, 
with  Trusty  at  their  head,  hurried  towards  the  piece  of  pseudo-Bculptaie. 

There  was  no  chance  of  escape ;  and  the  unfortunate  sportsman  was 
discovered,  and  brought  broadly  into  the  light,  under  the  fierce  battery 
of  eyes — among  others  the  eyes  of  his  lady  love,  that,  instead  of  express- 
ing sympathy  for  his  forlorn  condition,  appeared  rather  to  sparkle  with 
satirical  delight  1 

It  was  a  terrible  catastrophe — to  be  contemplated  in  such  a  plight ;  and 
Smythje,  hurrying  through  the  crowd,  lost  no  time  in  withdrawing  from 
observation,  betaking  himself  to  his  chamber — where,  under  the  consola- 
tory encouragement  of  the  sympathising  Thorns,  he  was  soon  rendered 
presentable. 


CHAPTER   LL 

HERBERT   IN    THE    HAFPY    VALLEY. 

INAPPROPRIATE  as  Jacob  Jessuron's  neighbours  may  have  deemed  the  title 
of  his  estate — the  Happy  Valley — Herbert  Vaughan  had  no  reason  to  re- 
gard it  as  a  misnomer.  From  the  hour  in  which  he  entered  upon  his  situa- 
tion of  book-keeper,  it  was  a  round  of  pleasures,  rather  than  duties, 
that  he  found  himself  called  upon  to  fulfil ;  and  his  new  life,  so  far  from 
b<jing  laboriously  spent,  was  one  continued  scene,  or  series  of  scenes, 
of  positive  pastime,  Instead  of  keeping  books,  or  looking  after  slarei-- 


HEBBEBT  IN   THE  HAPPY  VALET.  161 

or,  in  short,  doing  anything  that  might  be  deemed  useful — most  cf  hia 
time  was  spent  in  excursions,  that  had  no  other  object  than  recreation 
or  amusement.  Drives  to  the  Bay — in  which  he  was  accompanied  by 
Jessuron  himself,  and  introduced  to  his  mercantile  acquaintances ;  visits 
to  neighboring  perms  and  plantations  with  the  beautiful  Judith — and  in 
which  he  was  made  acquainted  with  her  circle ;  fishing  parties  upon  the 
water  ;  and  pic-nics  in  the  woods, — all  these  were  afforded  him  withoul 
itint. 

He  was  furnished  with  a  fine  horse  to  ride ;  dogs  and  equipments  for 
the  chase ;  everything,  in  short,  calculated  to  afford  him  the  life  of  a 
gentleman  of  elegant  leisure.  A  half  year's  salary  had  been  advanced  to 
him  unasked — thus  delicately  giving  him  the  means  of  replenishing  his 
wardrobe,  and  enabling  him  to  appear  in  proper  costume  for  every  occa- 
sion. 

Certainly,  the  prospects  of  the  poor  steerage  passenger  seemed  to 
have  undergone  a  change  for  the  better.  Through  the  generosity  of  hie 
unexpected  patron,  he  was  playing  a  '  role'  at  the  Jew's  penn  not  unlike 
that  which  his  fellow-voyager  was,  at  this  very  time,  performing  at 
Mount  Welcome ;  and  as  there  was  not  much  difference  in  the  social 
i&ftfc  of  the  respective  circles  in  which  they  were  each  revolving,  it  was 
by  no  means  improbable  that  the  two  might  meet  again,  and  upon  more 
equal  footing  than  formerly. 

To  do  Herbert  Vaughan  justice,  it  should  be  stated  that  he  was  more 
surprised  than  gratified  by  the  luxurious  life  he  was  leading.  There  was 
something  rather  extraordinary  in  the  generous  patronage  of  the  Jew — 
something  that  puzzled  him  not  a  little.  How  was  he  to  account  for  such 
kind  hospitality  ? 

Thus  for  days  after  Herbert  Vaughan  had  made  the  Happy  Valley  his 
home,  matters  moved  on — smoothly  enough  to  the  superficial  observer. 
Slight  incongruities  that  did  occur  from  time  to  time,  were  ingeniously 
explained ;  and  the  young  Englishman,  unsuspicious  of  any  evil  design, 
with  the  exception  of  the  unwonted  hospitality  that  was  being  bestowed 
upon  himself,  saw  nothing  extraordinary  in  the  circumstances  that  sur- 
rounded him.  Had  he  been  less  the  honoured  guest  of  his  Israelitish 
host,  perhaps  his  perceptions  might  have  been  more  scrupulous  and  dis- 
criminative. But  the  Arabs  have  a  proverb — "  It  is  not  in  human  nature 
to  speak  ill  of  the  horse  that  has  borne  one  out  of  difficulty  and  danger;" 
and  human  nature  in  the  East  is  but  the  counterpart  of  its  homonym  in 
the  West.  Noble  as  was  the  nature  of  the  young  Englishman,  still  was 
it  human ;  and  to  have  "  spoken  ill  of  the  bridge  that  had  carried  him 
safely  over"  from  that  desolate  shore  on  which  he  had  last  been  strand- 
ed, would  have  argued  a  nature  something  more  than  human. 

If  he  entertained  any  suspicion  of  his  patron's  integrity,  he  zealously 
kept  it  to  himself — not  with  any  idea  of  surrendering  either  his  indepen- 
dence or  self-respect ;  but  to  await  the  development  of  the  somewhat  in- 
explicable courtesy  of  which  he  was  the  recipient 

This  cotirtesy  was  not  confined  to  his  Hebrew  host.  As  Herbert  had 
long  been  aware,  his  daughter  exercised  it  in  an  equal  degree,  and  far 
more  gracefully.  Indeed,  among  other  transformations  that  had  been  re- 
marked as  occurring  in  the  Happy  Valley,  the  spirit  of  the  fair  Jewess 


1(52          HERBERT  IN  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY. 

seemed  to  have  austaiiied  a  remarkable  change.  Though  upon  occasion! 
the  proud,  imperious  temper  would  manifest  itself,  more  generally  now 
was  Judith  in  a  sentimental  vein — at  times  approaching  to  sadness. 
There  were  other  times  when  the  old  spitefulness  would  show  itself. 
Then  the  spiral  nostrils  would  curl  with  contempt,  and  the  dark  Israeli- 
tish  eyes  flash  with  malignant  fire. 

Happily,  these  rather  ungraceful  exhibitions — like  the  tornadoes  of 
Ler  native  land — were  rare  ;  for  a  certain  name — the  cau&e  that  called 
lihem  forth — was  rarely  pronounced  in  her  hearing.     Kate  Vaughan  was 
•Uhe  name. 

,  Her  dislike  for  the  young  Creole  had  originated  in  a  mere  rivalry  of 
charms.  Both  enjoyed  a  wide  spread  reputation  for  beauty,  oft  discant- 
ed  upon,  and  often  compared,  by  the  idle  gallants  of  the  Bay.  These 
discussions  and  comparisons  readied  the  car  of  the  Jewess  ;  and,  to  her 
chagrin,  the  decisions  were  not  always  in  her  favour.  Hence  the  origin 
of  her  enmity. 

Hitherto  it  had  been  only  envy;  and,  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  and  a 
slight  curl  of  the  nostril,  the  nnpleasai  t  theme  would  be  dismissed.  Of 
late,  however,  a  stronger  emotion  tha»/  envy  had  begun  to  exhibit  itself : 
and,  whenever  the  name  of  Kute  Vaughan  was  introduced  into  tho  cww 
versation — no  matter  how  incidentally  or  undesigned — the  eye  of  the 
Jewess  would  light  up  with  a  jealous  fire,  her  lips  quiver  as  if  muttering 
curses ;  and  she,  who  but  the  moment  before  seemed  a  very  angel,  would 
become  all  at  once  transformed  into  the  semblance  of  a  demon  \ 

One  would  have  supposed  that  the  presence  of  Kate's  cousin  would 
have  kept  in  check  these  unseemly  exhibitions.  On  the  contrary,  it  ap- 
peared rather  the  influence  that  invoked  them  ;  for  in  Herbert's  presence 
alone  did  the  daughter  of  Jessuron  put  on  such  a  seeming ;  and  if  by  any 
chance  the  young  man  spoke  favourably  of  his  cousin — to  do  him  justice 
he  never  spoke  otherwise — the  fair  Jewess  would  no  longer  confine  her 
spleen  to  mere  dumb  signs,  but  would  launch  forth  into  the  most  bitter 
revilings.  Then  did  Herbert  listen  to  strange  revelaticns.  Then  learnt 
he,  and  for  the  first  time,  that  Kate  Vaughan,  his  beautiful  and  accom- 
plished cousin,  was  the  daughter  of  a  quadroon  slave  ! 

Thus  was  he  made  to  understand  the  alias  of  "  lilly  Quasheba,"  which 
Kate  had  been  herself  unable  to  explain  ;  and  more  than  half  compre- 
hended the  plaint  of  friendless  isolation  which  iiis  cousin,  in  her  into 
uont  candour,  had  confessed  to  him. 

Herbert,  though  little  regarding  all  this,  forbore  to  make  denial  or  con- 
tradiction. Entirely  ignorant  of  the  past  history  of  his  cousin's  life, 
neither  against  statements  of  fact  nor  insinuation  of  falsehood  could  ho 
say  a  word  in  her  defence.  He  scarce  dared  to  defend  her  :  for  to  say 
the  truth,  the  imperious  spirit  of  the  Jewess  had  already  gained  a  cer 
tain  ascendancy  over  his. 

It  was  only  when  Kate's  name  came  uppermost  that  Judith  was  seen 
to  frown— at  least  by  Herbert  Vaughan.  At  all  other  times  her  face  waa 
beset  with  smiles,  sweetly  seductive. 

The  behavior  of  tho  Jewess  admits  of  easy  explanation.  She  was  in 
love,  and  with  Herbert  Vaughan. 

The  Jew  Jessuron  had  commenced  playing  a  game,  with  his 


HERBERT  IN  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY.         163 

acting  as  decoy.  Herbert  Vaughan  was  the  stake  to  be  obtained.  •Vhafc 
ever  was  its  purpose,  the  game  was  a  deep  one,  and,  for  the  decoy,  dan 
gerous.  If  won,  where  would  be  the  advantage?  What  object  could 
he  have  in  desiring  his  daughter  to  entrap  the  heart  of  Herbert  Vaughan? 
This  was  the  mystery — the  depth  of  the  game.  If  lost,  then  lost  too 
would  be  the  lure  !  Therein  lay  its  danger.  Cunning  as  he  was,  Jacob 
Jessuron  may  not  have  foreseen  this  danger.  Having  confidence  in  the 
habitual  coldness,  as  well  as  the  skilled  experience  of  his  daughter's 
heart,  he  had  entered  upon  his  play  without  apprehension. 

Judith  had  herself  began  the  game  equally  insouciant  of  consequences. 
<  Her  notions  differed  from  those  of  her  father  :  for,  indeed,  it  was  not  till 
a  late  period  that  she  was  fully  informed  of  his — not  until  hers  had  be- 
come sufficiently  strong  to  stimulate  her  to  continue  the  play  on  her  own 
account. 

With  her,  at  first,  the  motive  was  part  vanity,  part  coquetry — blended 
however,  with  some  serious  admiration.  Mingled  also  with  this  was  a 
desire  to  vex  Kate  Vaughan  ;  for.  from  the  first,  she  had  suspected  rival- 
ry in  that  quarter.  Even  though  she  had  been  made  aware  of  the  very 
short  interview  between  the  cousins,  she  could  not  feel  satisfied  but  that 
something  had  passed  between  them :  and  there  was  that  bit  of  ribbon, 
which  Herbert  still  cherished,  and  of  the  symbolism  of  which  she  had 
vainly  endeavoured  to  obtain  a  solution. 

Her  suspicions  did  not  die  out,  as  it  might  be  supposed  they  would,  in 
the  absence  of  any  demonstration  on  Herbert's  part  towards  his  cousin. 
On  the  contrary,  they  only  grew  stronger,  as  her  own  interest  in  the 
young  Englishman  increased,  for  then  she  could  not  understand  how  a 
young  girl— Kate  Vaughau  or  any  other — could  have  looked  upon '  the 
man  who  had  impressed  her,  without  being  themselves  impressed. 

And  she  had  become  impressed  by  him,  not  gradually,  but  rapidly  and 
profoundly ;  until  her  love  had  grown  into  a  fierce  passion,  such  as  a 
tigress  may  be  suspected  of  conceiving  for  her  tawny  mate. 

Herbert  Vaughan  had  passed  scarce  a  week  under  the  roof  of  the  Jew's 
mansion  when  its  mistress  was  in  love  with  him — to  the  ends  of  her  fin- 
gers— to  the  very  extreme  of  jealousy  ! 

As  for  the  object  of  this  fervent  passion,  the  young  man  was  at  this 
time  quite  unable  to  analyse  his  own  feelings  ;  still  more  difficult  were 
they  to  be  understood  by  an  outside  observer. 

The  knowledge  of  a  few  facts  may  facilitate  their  comprehension. 

In  the  short  interview  which  he  had  had  with  his  cousin  Kate,  Her- 
bert Vaughan  had  looked,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  on  one  whom  to 
look  at  was  to  love.  The  blue-eyed  belle  of  his  native  village,  the  pretty 
barmaid  at  the  inn,  the  sweet-faced  chorister  in  the  church,  with  other 
boyish  fancies,  already  half  obliterated  by  two  months  of  absence,  were 
swept  instantaneously  into  the  dust-bin  of  oblivion  by  that  lovely  ap- 
parition. He  was  face  to  face  with  a  woman  worthy  of  his  love— one 
who  deserved  every  aspiration  of  his  soul.  Intuitively  and  at  the  first 
glance  he  had  felt  that;  and  still  more  was  he  impressed  with  it,  as  he 
pronouncf  d  those  warm  words  on  his  painful  parting.  Hence  the  ardent 
proffer  of  the  strong  arm  and  stout  hear"-  - -Iience  the  chivalric  refusal  of 
the  purse,  and  the  preference  of  a  piece  of  ribbon. 


164  HERBERT  IN  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY. 

Not  tLat  he  had  any  reason  to  regard  the  latter  as  a  love-token  P« 
knew  that  the  kind  won  is  that  had  been  spoken  in  that  short  but  stormy 
interview — as  well  as  the  oii'ur  of  gold  that  had  ended  it — were  but  the 
promptings  of  a  pitying  heart ;  and  rather  a  negation  of  love,  than  a  sign 
of  its  existence.  Glad  as  he  might  have  been  to  have  regarded  the  piece 
of  ribbon  as  a  gage  cCamour,  he  could  only  prize  it  as  a  souvenir  of 
friendship — of  no  higher  signification  than  the  purse  to  which  it  had  be- 
longed, or  the  gold  treasure  which  that  purse  had  contained. 

Though  sensible  that  he  had  no  claim  upon  his  cousin  beyond  that  of 
kinship — though  not  a  word  had  been  spoken  by  her  to  show  that  she 
felt  for  him  any  other  kind  of  regard,  Herbert,  strange  enough,  had  con- 
ceived  a  hope,  that  some  day  or  other  a  more  endearing  relationship 
might  exist  between  them. 

Whence  the  origin  of  this  pleasant  expectancy  ?  He  could  not  himself 
tell :  since  there  was  nothing  in  her  speech  to  betray  aught  upon  which 
to  build  a  hope.  In  her  manner  ?  There  might  have  been  something  in 
that  ?  Though  ever  so  delicately  outlined,  Herbert  had  perceived  an  ex- 
pression there  that  still  lingered  in  his  memory.  Hence,  no  doubt,  the 
fancy  in  which  he  had  indulged. 

Not  for  long  was  he  cheered  by  the  sweet  remembrance.  It  was  too 
transitory  to  stand  the  test  of  time.  As  day  succeeded  day,  rumours 
reached  him  of  the  gay  scenes  that  were  transpiring  at  Mount  Welcome. 
Especially  was  he  informed  of  the  contentedness  of  his  cousin  Kate  in 
the  society  of  her  new  companion,  Smythje. 

The  effect  of  this  information  was  a  gradual  but  grievous  extinction  of 
the  slight  hope  which  Herbert  had  conceived. 

The  circumstances  with  which  chance  had  now  surrounded  him  may 
have  rendered  these  regrets  less  painful.  Though  his  cousin  cared  not 
for  him,  he  had  no  reason  to  feel  forsaken  or  forlorn.  By  his  side,  and 
almost  constantly  by  his  side,  was  beauty  of  no  common  brilliance, 
showering  smiles  upon  him  of  no  ordinary  attractiveness. 

Had  he  been  the  recipient  of  those  smiles  only  one  day  sooner — before 
the  image  of  Kate  Vaughan  had  made  that  slight  impression  upon  his 
heart — he  might  the  more  readily  have  yielded  to  their  influence.  And, 
perhaps,  on  the  other  hand,  could  he  have  known  how  his  image  had 
fallen  upon  her  heart,  and  made  lodgment  there,  he  might  have  offered  a 
sterner  resistance  to  the  syren  seductions  with  which  he  was  now  beset 

But  lover's  hearts  are  not  things  of  glass  ;  and  though  at  times  they  re 
semble  mirrors  mentally  reflecting  each  other,  too  often,  by  the  ruling  of 
contrarieties,  do  the  mirrors  become  reversed — turned  back  to  back,  with 
the  reflected  images  facing  darkly  inward. 

In  such  a  dilemma  was  the  heart  of  Herbert  Vaughan.  No  wonder 
there  was  difficulty  in  effecting  its  analysis. 

Nor  was  Kate  Vaughan  kept  in  ignorance  of  outward  events.  He^ 
maid  Tola  was  the  medium  by  which  she  was  made  acquainted  with  them. 
Through  this  medium  she  had  heard  of  Herbert's  proximity — of  his  hap- 
piness arid  prosperity.  The  news  would  have  given  her  joy,  but  that 
she  had  heard  he  was  too  happy  !  Strange  that  this  should  be  a  cause  of 
bitterness ! 

ti  a  condition  somewhat  similar  to  Herbert'*  was  the  heart  of  hii 


Itf   SEARCH   OF  JUSTICE.  165 

emisin:  though  hers  was  easier  to  analyse.  It  was  simply  trembling 
under  the  influence  of  a  first  and  virgin  love.  Two  forma  had  been  pre- 
sented to  it  in  the  same  hour,  both  in  the  blush  of  youthful  manhood— oua 
a  distinguished  gentleman — the  other,  an  humble  adventurer. 

The  former  had  the  additional  advantage  in  priority  of  introduction ; 
the  latter  was  not  even  introduced.  But  the  favourite  does  not  alway* 
win.  The  earliest  on  the  course  may  be  the  latest  in  the  race  ;  and 
though  the  heart  of  the  young  Creole,  on  its  pure  virgin  page,  had  re- 
reived  love's  image  at  first  sight,  it  was  not  that  of  him  who  first  present- 
ed  himself  to  make  the  impression. 

The  thoughts  that  succeeded — the  hopes  and  fears — the  dark  doubts 
by  day  and  by  night— the  dreams,  often  delusively  bright — need  not  bo 
detailed.  There  are  none  who  have  not  known  a  first  love  ;  few  who 
have  not  felt  this  chequered  alternation  of  emotions. 

As  for  the  distinguished  Smythje,  he  was  not  always  in  one  mind.  He, 
too,  was  troubled  with  an  alternation  of  hopes  and  fears.  The  former, 
however,  generally  predominated  ;  and,  for  the  most  part,  he  felt  in  his 
spirit  the  proud  confidence  of  a  conquerer.  Often,  with  Thorns  as  his 
audience,  might  Smythje  be  heard  exultingly  repeating  the  somewhat 
boastful  despatch  of  Caesar  : — "  Veni,  vidi,  vici .'" 


CHAPTER    LII. 

IN    SEARCH    OF     JUSTICE. 

THK  mutual  spite  between  planter  and  penn-keeper  was  of  old  •  standing 
— dating,  in  fact,  from  their  first  acquaintance  with  each  other.  Some 
sharp  practice  between  them,  in  the  sale  and  purchase  of  slaves,  had 
given  origin  to  it ;  and  circumstances  were  always  occurring  to  hinder  it 
from  dying  out.  This  was  more  especially  the  case  since  the  Jew,  by  the 
purchase  of  the  Happy  Valley  estate,  had  become  the  contiguous  neigh- 
bour— and,  in  point  of  wealth,  almost  the  rival — of  the  proprietor  of 
Mount  Welcome. 

The  enmity  mutually  indulged  in  by  them  was  rather  of  the  nature  of 
an  antipathy.  Though  keenly  felt  on  both  sides,  it  was  generally  conceal- 
ed. Only  upon  very  rare  occasions  had  it  found  expression  between  them, 
and  then  only  in  the  slightest  manner.  Not  that  either  of  them  Lad  suc- 
ceeded in  disguising  his  ill-will  from  the  other.  Each  knew  that  tho 
other  hated  him,  as  well  as  if  the  avowal  had  been  made  every  day  of 
their  lives. 

The  dislike  was  rather  intermittent  than  regular — that  is,  it  was  stronger 
or  weaker  according  to  circumstances  ;  sometimes  reaching  the  point  of 
open  hostility,  and  sometimes  waning  to  mere  unfriendliness,  but  never 
entirely  dying  out. 

On  the  side  of  the  Gustos  there  had  been  for  some  time  past  anothei 
feeling  mixed  up  with  his  antipathy  to  his  Israel itish  neighbour — a  vague 
sense  of  fear.  This  was  of  modern  origin — so  late  as  since  the  execution 
of  Ohakra,  the  myal-man-~and  begotten  of  some  remarks  which  as  re> 


1(56  m   SEARCH   OF  JUSTICE. 

portot!   to  Mr.  Vallghan,  the  Jew  had  made  in  connection  with  that  «£:/ 
incident. 

If  nothing  had  of  late  transpired  to  increase  this  fear  on  the  part  of  the 
Custos,  a  circumstance  had  arisen  to  strengthen  his  hostility.  The  pro- 
tection which  had  been  given  to  his  discarded  nephew,  and  the  parade 
which  his  neighbour  was  making  of  him,  had  proved  to  the  Custos  a 
acandal  of  the  most  irksome  kind ;  and  almost  every  day  was  he  made 
aware  of  some  unpleasant  bit  of  gossip  connected  with  the  affair.  So 
irritated  had  he  become  with  the  reports,  or  rumours,  constantly  reaching 
him,  that  his  hatred  for  the  Jew  had  grown  stronger  than  ever  before  ; 
and  he  would  have  given  a  dozen  hogsheads  of  his  best  muscovado  to  any 
one  who  should  have  provided  him  with  the  means  of  humiliating  the 
detested  penn-keeper. 

Just  at  this  crisis  chance,  or  fortune,  stepped  in  to  favour  him,  appar- 
ently offering  him  the  very  opportunity  he  desired  ;  and  in  a  way  that, 
instead  of  costing  him  a  dozen  hogsheads  of  sugar,  was  likely  to  put  far 
more  than  that  amount  of  property  into  his  pocket. 

It  was  the  day  before  that  on  which  Smythje  had  dropped  into  the 
dead-wood.  The  Custos  was  in  his  kiosk  alone,  smoking  a  plantation 
segar,  and  conning  over  the  statutes  of  the  "  black  code" — a  favourite 
study  with  him,  and  necessary  also  :  since  he  had  arrived  at  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  chief  magisterial  authority  of  the  district.  Just  at  that 
moment  Mr.  Trusty's  shadow  was  projected  into  the  summer-house. 

"  Well,  Trusty,  what  is  it?" 

"  There's  a  man  below  wants  to  see  your  worship." 

"  On  what  business,  pray  ?" 

"  Don't  know,"  answered  the  laconic  overseer ;  "  he  won't  tell.  Says 
it's  important,  and  can  only  communicate  to  yourself." 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?    Negro  or  white  man  ?" 

"  Neither,  your  worship.  He's  a  clear  mulatto.  I've  seen  him  about 
before.  He's  one  of  the  Maroons  that  have  their  settlement  over  among 
the  Trelawney  Hills.  He  calls  himself  Cubina." 

"  Ah  1"  said  the  Custos,  showing  a  slight  emotion  as  the  name  was  pro- 
nounced ;  "  Cubina !  Cubina !  I've  heard  the  name.  I  fancy  I've  seen 
the  man-»-at  a  distance.  A  y  >ung  fellow,  isn't  he  ?" 

"  Very  young  ;  though  the}  say  he's  the  captain  of  the  band." 

11  What  on  earth  can  the  Maroon  want  with  me  ?"  muttered  Mr. 
Vaiighan  half  to  himself.  "  He  hasn't  brought  in  any  runaways,  has  ho  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  overseer.  "  Thanks  to  your  worship's  good . 
management,  we  haven't  any  of  late — not  since  that  old  schemer  Chakra  v 
was  put  out  of  the  way." 

"  Thanks  to  your  good  management,  Mr.  Trusty,"  said  the  planter,  re- 
turning his  overseer's  compliment,  not  without  a  show  of  nervous  ex- 
citement, which  the  reference  to  Chakra  had  called  forth.  "Then  iff 
nothing  of  that  kind,  you  think  ?"  hastily  added  he,  as  if  desirous  of 
changing  the  theme. 

"  No,  your  worship.  It  cannot  be :  there's  not  a  runaway  upon  mj 
list ;"  replied  Trusty,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  Gad  !  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Cuatos,  rubbing  his  hands  together 
as  an  expression  of  his  contentment.  "  Well,  I  suppose  the  young  fellow 


IIS'    SEAncft    3F  JUSTICE.  161 


has  come  to  consuk  me  in  my  magisterial  capacity.  In  some  scrape,  no 
doubt  ?  These  Maroons  are  alway  getting  themselves  into  trouble  with 
some  of  our  planters.  I  wonder  who  he's  come  to  complain  about  ?" 

"  Well,  that  much  I  think  I  can  tell  you,"  rejoined  the  overseer,  evi- 
dently knowing  more  of  the  Maroon's  errand  than  he  had  yet  admitted— 
for  Mr.  Trusty  was  a  true  disciple  of  the  secretive  school.    "  If  I  should 
be  allowed  to  make  a  guess,  your  worship,  I  should  say  it  is  something 
relating  to  our  neighbour  of  the  Happy  Valley." 
"What!  the  Jew?" 
"  Jacob  Jessuron,  Esquire." 

"  You  think  so,  Trusty  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Vaughan,  with  an  earnest  and 
gratified  look.  "  Has  the  young  fellow  said  anything?" 

"  No,"  answered  tho  overseer  ;  "  it's  not  anything  he  has  said.    I  heard 
something  a  day  or  two  ago  about  a  runaway  the  Maroons  had  got 
among  them  —  a  slave  belonging  to  the  Jew.    It  appears  they  don't  want 
to  give  him  up." 
"  Whom  did  you  hear  it  from  ?" 

"  Why,  not  exactly  from  any  one,  your  worship.    I  should  rather  say  I 
overheard  it,  quite  by  accident.    One  of  the  Trelawney  Maroons  —  a  big 
fellow  that  comes  down  here  occasionally  after  black  Bet  —  was  telling  her 
something.    I  was  passing  Bet's  cabin,  and  heard  them  talking  about  it." 
"  Don't  want  to  give  him  up  1    And  for  what  reason  do  they  refuse  ?" 
"Can't  tell,  your  worship.    I  could  only  make  out  part  of  the  conver- 
sation." 

"  So  you  think  it's  about  that  the  young  fellow  has  come  ?" 
"  I  think  it  likely,  your  worship.     He's  close,  however,  and  I  couldn't 
get  a  word  out  of  him  about  his  business.     He  says  he  must  see  you." 

"  All  right,  then  !  You  can  show  him  in  here  —  as  good  a  place  as  any. 
And  hark  ye,  Mr.  Trusty  !  See  Black  Bet,  and  get  out  of  her  what  you 
can.  This  is  an  interesting  matter.  A  Maroon  refusing  to  deliver  up  a 
runaway  !  There  must  be  something  in  it.  Perhaps  the  mulatto  will  tell 
me  all  about  it  ;  but,  whether  he  does  or  not,  you  see  Bet.  You  can 
promise  her  a  new  gown,  or  whatever  you  like.  Show  the  young  fellow 
up  at  once.  I  am  ready  to  receive  him." 

Mr.  Trusty  bowed,  and  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  the  wcrks,  where 
the  Maroon  had  remained  ;  while  the  Gustos,  composing  himself  into  an 
official  attitude,  awaited  the  approach  of  his  visitor. 

"  I'd  give  a  good  round  sum,"  soliloquised  he,  "  to  learn  that  the  old 
rascal  has  got  into  some  scrape  with  these  Maroon  fellows.  I  shouldn't 
wonder,"  he  added,  in  gleeful  anticipation.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  !  1 
know  they  don't  much  like  him  —  less  since  he's  taken  the  Spaniards  into 
his  pay  —  and  I  suspect  he's  been  engaged  in  some  underhand  transactions 
of  late.  He's  been  growing  grander  every  day,  and  nobody  knows  where 
all  the  money  comes  from.  Maybe  Master  Maroon  has  a  tale  to  tell  ; 
and,  if  it's  against  Jessuron,  111  take  care  he  has  an  opportunity  to  tell  it. 
Ah,  here  he  comes  !  Egad,  a  fine-looking  fellow  !  So,  so  !  This  is  the 
young  man  that  my  daughter  jokes  Yola  about  !  Well,  I  don't  wondei 
the  Foolah  should  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him  ;  but  I  must  see  that  he 
doesn't  make  a  fool  of  her.  These  Maroons  are.  dangerous  dogs  among 
the  women  of  the  plantations  ;  and  Yola,  whether  a  princess  or  not  in  her 


MAGISTRATE    AtfD    MAKOCI?. 

own  country — princess,  ha!  ha!  Well,  at  all  events,  the  wench  is  no 
common  nigger ;  and  it  won't  do  for  Master  Maroon  to  come  humbugging 
her.  I  shall  lecture  him  about  it,  now  that  I've  got  him  here.  I  hope  he 
has  other  business  than  that,  though." 

By  this  time  the  Maroon  captain — equipped  just  as  we  have  seen  him 
in  the  forest — had  arrived  in  front  of  the  kiosk ;  and,  making  a  deferen- 
tial bow,  though  without  taking  off  his  hat — which  being  the  toqued  ker- 
chief,  could  not  conveniently  be  removed — stood  waiting  for  the  Gustos  to 
address  him. 

The  latter  remained  for  a  considerable  time  without  vouchsafing  farther 
speech,  than  the  mechanical  salutation,  "  Good  morning."  There  was 
something  in  the  physiognomy  of  his  visitor  that  had  evidently  made  an 
impression  upon  him  ;  and  the  gaze,  with  which  he  regarded  the  latter, 
was  one  that  bespoke  some  feeling  different  from  that  of  mere  curiosity 
or  admiration.  It  was  a  glance  of  keen  scrutiny :  as  if  the  face  of  the 
young  man  had  called  up  some  souvenir — one,  too,  not  altogether  agree- 
able. This  was  indicated  by  a  slight  shadow  that,  at  the  moment,  made 
its  appearance  upon  the  planter's  countenance. 

Whatever  it  was,  he  seemed  desirous  of  suppressing  it ;  and,  making 
an  effort  to  that  effect,  appeared  to  succeed :  for  the  instant  after  the 
shadow  cleared  away ;  and,  with  a  magisterial  but  courteous  smile,  ne 
commenced  the  conversation. 


CHAPTER   LttL 

MAGISTRATE    AND     MAROON. 

"  WELL,  young  man,"  began  the  Gustos,  in  an  affable  tone,  "  you,  I  think, 
are  one  of  the  Maroons  of  Trelawney?" 

"Yes,  worship,"  bluntly  answered  Cubina. 

"  The  captain  of  a  town,  are  you  not  ?' 

"  Only  a  few  families,  worship.     Ours  is  a  small  settlement." 

"  And  your  name  is ?" 

"  Cubina." 

"  Ah  !  I've  heard  the  name,"  said  the  Gustos.  "  I  think,"  added  he,  with 
a  significant  smile,  "  we  have  a  young  girl  here  on  the  plantation  who 
knows  you  ?" 

Cubina  blushed,  as  he  stammered  out  an  affirmative. 

"  Oh !  that's  all  right,"  said  the  qustos,  encouragingly.  M  So  long  ae 
there's  no  harm  meant,  there's  no  harm  done.  Mr.  Trusty  tells  me  yon 
have  business  with  me.  Is  it  about  that?' 

"  About  what,  your  worship  ?"  inquired  the  Maroon,  a  little  taken  by 
surprise  at  the  question  so  unexpectedly  put  to  him. 

"  About  your  sweetheart  ?" 

"  My  sweetheart,  worship  ?" 

"  Ay,  Tola.     Is  she  not  your  sweetheart  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Vaughan,"  rejoined  the  Maroon,  "  I'm  not  going  to  deny 
that  something  has  passed  between  me  and  the  young  girl ;  but  it  warnl 


AND   MAROOtf. 

exactly  about  that  I've  come  to  see  you,  though  now,  beiri'  here,  1  might 
as  well  talk  that  matter,  too,  if  it  so  please  your  worship." 

"  Very  good,  Captain  Cubina ;  I'm  ready  to  hear  what  you  have  to 
say.  Go  on !" 

*  Well,  then,  your  worship,  the  truth  is,  I  want  to  buy  Tola." 

"  What !     Buy  your  own  sweetheart  ?" 

"  Just  so,  worship.  .  Of  course,  as  soon  as  she  were  mine,  I'd  set  nef 
free." 

*  "  That  is,  you  would  change  the  bonds  she  now  wears  for  the  bonds  of 
Matrimony  ?  ha  !  ha  I  ha!  Is  that  it,  Cubina  1"  And  the  Gustos  laughed 
at  the  conceit  he  had  so  neatly  expressed. 

"  Something  of  that  sort,  your  worship,"  replied  Cubina,  slightly  pal 
ticipating  in  the  worthy  magistrate's  mirth. 

44  And  do  you  think  Tola  desires  to  become  Mrs.  Cubina  ?" 

"  If  I  didn't  think  so,  your  worship,  I  wouldn't  propose  to  buy  her.  It 
would  be  nothing  to  me  to  own  the  girl,  if  she  warn't  agreeable." 

"  She  is  agreeable,  then  ?" 

"  Well,  worship,  I  think  so.  Not  that  she  don't  like  the  young  mistress 
that  owns  her  at  present ;  but  you  see,  your  worship — but " 

"  But  there's  somebody  she  likes  better  than  her  mistress  ;  and  that's 
yourself,  Master  Cubina  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  worship,  that's  a  different  sort  of  liking,  and " 

"  True  enough — true  enough  !"  interrupted  Mr.  Vaughan,  as  if  wishing 
to  hasten  the  end  of  the  conversation — at  least,  upon  that  subject. 

•'  Well,  Captain  Cubina,"  he  added,  "suppose  I  was  willing  to  part  with 
Tola,  how  much  could  you  afford  to  give  for  her  ?  Mind  you,  I  don't  say 
I  am  willing  ;  for,  after  all,  the  girl  belongs  to  my  daughter :  and  she 
would  have  something  to  say  about  the  matter." 

"  Ah,  sir !"  exclaimed  Cubina,  in  a  tone  of  tender  confidence,  "  Miss 
Vaughan  is  good  and  generous.  I've  often  heard  say  so.  I  am  sure  she 
would  never  stand  in  the  way  of  Tola's  being  happy." 

"  Oh,  you  think  it  would  make  Yola  happy,  do  you  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,  your  worship,"  answered  the  Maroon,  modestly  dropping 
his  eyes,  as  he  made  the  reply. 

"  After  all,"  said  the  planter,  "  it  would  be  a  matter  of  business.     My 
daughter,  even  if  she  wished  it,  could  not  afford  to  part  with  the  girl  for 
*  less  than  the  market  price  ;  which  in  Tola's  case  wculd  be  a  large  one, 
[low  much  do  you  suppose  I  have  been  offered  for  her  ?" 

"  I've  heard  two  hundred  pounds,  your  worship." 

"  Just  so ;  and  I  refused  that,  too." 

"  Maybe,  Mr.  Vaughan,  you  would  not  have  refused  it  from  another — 
from  me,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know  about  that  1    But  could  you  raise  that  large  Bum  !M 

"Not  just  now,  your  worship.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  could  not.  I  had 
rubbed  and  scraped  together  as  good  as  a  hundred — thinking  that  would 
be  enough — when,  to  my  sorrow,  I  learnt  I  had  only  got  half  way.  But, 
if  your  worship  will  only  allow  me  time,  I  think  I  can  manage — in  a  month 
or  two — to  get  the  other  hundred,  and  then " 

"  Then,  worthy  captain,  it  will  be  time  to  talk  about  buying  Tola 
Meanwhile,  I  can  promise  you  that  she  sha'n't  be  sold  to  anybody  else. 
Will  that  satisfy  you?" 


MAGISTRATE  AND 

"  Oh,  tliank  your  worship  !  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr  VaughaiL  I'D 
liot  fail  to  be  grateful.  So  long  as  Yola " 

"  Yola  will  be  safe  enough  in  my  daughter's  keeping.  But  now,  my 
young  fellow,  since  you  say  this  was  not  exactly  the  business  that  brought 
vou  here,  you  have  some  other,  I  suppose  ?  Pray  tell  me  what  it  is." 

The  Gustos,  as  he  made  this  request,  set  himself  to  listen,  in  a  more  at- 
cntive  attitude  than  he  had  yet  assumed. 

"  Well,  your  worship !"  proceeded  Cubina,  "  I've  come  over  to  ask  you 
for  some  advice  about  a  matter  I  have  with  Mr.  Jessuron — he  as  keeps 
pemi  close  by  here."  >• 

Mr.  Vaughan  became  doubly  attentive.  I 

"What  matter?"  asked  he,  in  simple  phrase,  lest  any  circumlocution 
might  distract  the  speaker  from  his  voluntary  declaration. 

"  It's  an  ugly  business,  your  worship  ;  and  I  wouldn't  bother  about  it, 
but  that  the  poor  young  fellow,  who's  been  obbed  out  ,of  his  rights, 
turns  out  to  be  neyther  more  nor  less  than  the  brother  of  Yola  herself. 
It's  a  queer  story  altogether  ;  and  if  it  warn't  the  old  Jew  that's  done 
the  thing,  one  could  hardly  believe  it." 

"  What  thing?    Pray  be  explicit,  my  friend  I" 

-"  Wei),  your  worship,  if  you'll  have  patience  to  hear  me,  I'll  tell  you 
the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end — that  is,  as  far  as  it  has  gone  :  for 
it  ain't  ended  yet." 

"  Go  on  1"  commanded  the  Gustos.  "  I'll  hear  it  patiently.  And  don't 
be  afraid,  Captain  Oubina,"  added  he,  encouragingly.  "Tell  me  all  you 
know — every  circumstance.  If  it's  a  case  for  justice,  I  promise  you 
justice  shall  be  done." 

And  with  this  magisterial  commonplace,  the  Gustos  resumed  his  atti- 
tude of  extreme  attention. 

"  I'll  make  no  secrets,  your  worship,  whether  it  gets  me  into  trouble 
or  no.  I'll  tell  you  all — leastwise,  all  that's  come  to  my  knowledge." 

And  with  this ,  proviso,  the  Maroon  captain  proceeded  to  detail  the 
circumstances  connected  with  the  capture  of  the  runaway ;  the  singular 
encounter  between  brother  and  sister ;  and  the  mutual  recognition  that 
followed.  Then  afterwards  the  disclosures  made  by  the  young  man : 
how  he  was  an  African  prince  ;  how  he  had  been  sent  in  search  of  his 
sister ;  the  ransom  he  had  brought  with  him  ;  his  landing  from  the  ship, 
consigned  by  Captain  Jowler  to  the  care  of  Jessuron ;  his  treatment  and 
betrayal  by  the  Jew  ;  the  branding  of  his  person,  and  robbing  him  of 
his  property  ;  his  escape  from  the  penn  ;  his  capture  by  Cubina,  already  , 
detailed ;  and,  finally,  his  detention  by  the  latter,  ID  spite  of  severe 
messages  and  menaces,  sent  by  the  Jew,  to  deliver  him  up. 

"Good  !*'  cried  Loftus  Yaughan,  starting  from  his  chair,  and  evidently 
delighted  by  the  recital,  somewhat  dramatically  delivered  by  the  Maroon. 
"  A  melodrama,  I  declare  !  wanting  only  one  act  to  complete  it.  Egad,  I 
shall  feel  inclined  to  be  one  of  the  actors  before  it's  played  out.  Ho  !" 
exclaimed  he,  as  if  some  thought  had  suddenly  struck  him  ;  "  this  may 
explain  why  the  old  rascal  wanted  to  buy  the  wench — though  I  don't 
clearly  see  his  purpose  in  that.  It'll  come  clear  yet,  no  doubt." 

Then  changing  from  his  soliJoquised  speeches,  and  addressing  himself 
onco  more  to  the  Maroon : 


AND   MAftOOtt.  i 

"Twenty-four  jlandingoes,  you  say — twenty -four  oclonged  to  .the 
prince  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  worship.  Twenty  regular  slaves,  and  fonr  others  that 
were  his  personal  attendants.  There  were  more  of  the  slaves,  but  they 
were  the  lawful  property  of  the  captain  for  bringing  him  over." 

"And  they  were  all  carried  to  the  Jew's  penn?" 

<4AH  of  them,  with  the  others  ;  in  fact,  the  whole  cargo  came  there 
The  Jew  bought  all.  There  were  some  Coromantees  among  them  ;  an<? 
one  of  my  men  Quaco,  who  had  talk  with  these,  heard  enough  to  connrw 
young  man's  story." 

"  Ha  1  what  a  pity,  now,  that  black  tongues  can't  wag  to  any  purpose  I 
Their  talk  goes  for  nothing.  But  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  without  it." 

"  Did  your  prince  ascertain  the  name  of  the  captain  that  brought  him 
ever  ?"  inquired  the  magistrate,  after  considering  a  minute. 

"  Oh,  yes,  your  worship  ;  Jowler,  he  was  called.  He  trades  upon  the 
Gambia,  where  the  prince's  father  lives.  The  young  man  knows  him 
*ell." 

"  I  think  I  know  something  of  him  too — that  same  Jowler.  I  should 
like  to  lay  my  hands  upon  him,  for  something  else  than  this — a  precious 
Bcamp  1  After  all,  it  wouldn't  do  much  good  if  we  had  him.  No  doubt, 
the  two  set  their  heads  together  in  the  business,  and  there's  only  one 
story  between  them. 

"  Humph !  what  are  we  to  do  for  a  white  witness  ?"  continued  the 
magistrate,  speaking  rather  to  himself  than  his  visitor.  "  That,  I  fear, 
will  be  a  fatal  difficulty.  Stay  1  Havener,  you  say,  Jessuron's  overseer, 
was  at  the  landing  of  the  cargo  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  your  worship.  That  worthy  took  an  active  part  in  the 
whole  transaction.  It  was  he  who  stripped  the  prince  of  his  clothes,  and 
took  all  his  jewellery  away  from  him." 

"  Jewellery,  too  ?" 

"  Crambo,  yes  !  He  had  many  valuable  thing.  Jowler  kept  most  of 
hifl  plunder  aboard  ship." 

"  A  robbery !     Egad,  a  wholesale -robbery  ! 

"  Well,  Captain  Oubina/'  proceeded  the  custos,  changing  his  tone  to 
one  of  more  business-like  import,  I  promise  you,  that  this  shall  not  be 
passed  over.  I  don't  yet  clearly  see  what  course  we  may  have  to  take. 
There  are  many  difficulties  in  a  prosecution  of  this  kind.  We'll  have 
trouble  about  the  testimony — especially  since  Mr.  Jessuron  is  a  magis- 
trate himself.  Never  mind  about  that.  Justice  shall  be  done,  even  wero 
he  the  highest  in  the  land.  But  there  can  be  no  move  made  just  yet. 
It  will  be  a  month  before  the  assize  court  meets  at  Savannah  ;  and  that 
is  where  we  must  go  with  it.  Meanwhile,  not  a  word  to  any  one — not  a 
whisper  of  what  you  know  1" 

"  I  promise  that,  your  worship." 

"You  must  keep  the  Foolah  where  you  have  him.  Don't,  on  any 
account,  deliver  him  up.  I'll  see  that  you're  protected  in  holding  him. 
Considering  the  case,  it's  not  likely  the  Jew  will  go  to  extremities  with 
you.  He  has  a  glass  house  over  his  head,  and  will  'ware  to  throw  stones 
— so  you've  not  much  to  fear. 

"  ind  now,  young  man !"  added  the  Oustos,  changing  his  tone  to  on* 


SMYTfiJE 

that  ehowed  how  friendly  he  could  be  to  him  who  had  imparted  iracli 
gratifying  intelligence,  "  if  all  goes  well,  you'll  not  have  much  difficulty 
in  making  up  the  hundred  pounds  for  the  purchase  of  your  sweetheart 
Remember  that  /" 

"  Thanks,  worthy  custos,"  said  Cubina,  bowing  gratefully ;  "  I  shall  dtv 
pend  upon  your  promise." 

'  You  may.  And  now — go  quietly  home,  and  wait  till  I  send  for  you. 
shall  see  my  lawyer  to-morrow.  We  may  want  you  soon." 

A  nd  Loftus  Vaughan  did  see  his  lawyer  on  the  morrow  :  for  that  was 
us  errand  to  Montego  Bay  on  the  day  that  Smythje  made  his  unlucky 
descent  into  the  dead-wood. 


CHAPTER  LJV. 

THE     BMYTHJE     ECLIPSE. 

THE  celebrated  eclipse  of  Columbus,  by  which  that  shrewd  navigator  so 
advantageously  deluded  the  simple  savages  of  Don  Christopher's  Cove, 
is  not  the  only  one  for  which  the  island  of  Jamaica  should  be  famous.  It 
is  my  duty  to  introduce  another  :  which,  if  not  worthy  of  being  record- 
ed upon  the  page  of  history,  deserves  at  least  a  chapter  in  our  romance. 

The  eclipse  in  question,  though,  perhaps,  not  so  important  in  its  re- 
sults as  that  which  favoured  the  great  world-finder,  was  nevertheless  of 
considerable  interest — more  especially  to  some  of  the  dramatis  persona 
of  our  tale,  whose  fortunes  it  influenced  in  no  slight  degree. 

Occurring  about  two  weeks  after  the  arrival  of  the  distinguished 
Smythje,  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  had  specially  distinguished  himself  for 
the  occasion:  as  a  sort  of  appropriate  climax  to  the  round  of  brilliant 
'  fetes'  and  entertainments,  of  which  the  lord  of  Montagu  Castle  had  been 
the  recipient.  It  deserves  therefore,  to  be  designated  the  "Smythje 
eclipse." 

In  the  finale  of  this  natural  phenomenon,  Smythje  was  not  so  fortunate 
as  Columbus ;  for,  instead  of  rendering  brighter  some  hopes  he  had 
hitherto  held,  it  had  served  rather  to  darken  them — like  the  sun  itself, 
almost  to  a  total  extinction. 

On  the  day  before  that  on  which  the  obscuration  of  the  sun  was  ex 
pected  to  take  place,  the  cockney  had  conceived  a  brilliant  design — that 
of  viewing  the  eclipse  from  the.  top  of  a  mountain — from  the  summit  of 
Hie  Jumbe  rock ! 

There  was  something  daringly  original  in  this  design ;  and  for  that  had 
Smythje  adopted  it.  Kate  Vaughan  was  to  be  his  companion.  He  had 
asked,  and,  of  course,  obtained  Mr.  Yaughan's  consent,  and  hers  also,  of 
course — for  Kate  had  found  of  late,  more  than  ever,  that  her  father's  will 
was  to  be  her  law, 

Smythje  was  not  without  a  purpose  in  the  proposed  ascent  te  the  natu- 
ral observatory  of  the  Jumbf  rock — more  than  one  purpose  was  in  hia 
mind.  The  boldness  of  the  idea — altogether  his  own — and  a  **  dispway" 
of  Ms  knowledge  of  "  astwouomy,"  which  he  intended  to  make,  and  fox 


THE  6MYTHJE   ECLIPSE.  173 

which  he  l.tid  prepared  himself,  could  not  fail  to  render  him  interesting 
in  the  eyes  of  the  young  creole — herself  not  in  uch  skilled  in  science. 

But  he  had  still  another  purpose — arid  one  of  a  far  more  importan* 
character — which  he  had  boen  cherishing  and  keeping  back  for  some  cri- 
sis occasion — just  such  a  one  as  the  expected  eclipse  was  expected  to 
offer.  In  that  hour,  when  all  the  earth  would  be  in  chiaro-oscuro,  as  ii 
shrouded  under  the  pall  of  infinity — in  that  dark  and  solemn  hour— 
Smythje  had  determined  upon  popping  the  question  I 

Why  he  had  selected  such  a  place  and  time — both  pre-eminently  som- 
bre— must,  I  fear,  remain  a  mystery.  He  may  have  been  actuated  in  hii 
choice  by  several  considerations.  He  may  have  been  under  an  impression 
that  the  poetical  reputation  of  the  place,  combined  with  the  romantic 
solemnity  of  the  scene  and  the  hour,  might  exercise  a  dissolving  influ- 
ence over  the  heart  of  the  young  creole,  and  incline  her  to  an  amrmina- 
tive  answer.  Or,  perhaps,  aufait  as  he  was  to  theatrical  contrivances, 
he  may  have  drawn  his  idea  from  something  he  had  seen  upon  the  stage, 
and  chosen  his  climax  accordingly. 

With  this  resolve  fully  fixed  in  his  mind,  did  Smythje  await  the  com- 
ing of  the  eclipse  ;  an  event  which,  by  the  laws  of  the  solar  system, 
should  transpire  on  the  following  day — a  little  before  the  hour  of  noon. 
On  that  morning,  Mr.  Smythe  awoke,  the  grand  idea  still  uppermost  in 
his  mind.  He  had  sufficient  knowledge  of  astronomy  to  know  that  the 
sun  would  not  play  him  false ;  or  rather  the  moon  ;  since  in  a  solar 
eclipse,  the  planet  is  the  principal  performer.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  Not  a  speck  could  be  distinguished  on  the  azure  arch  of  the 
West  Indian  sky.  There  need  be  no  apprehension  that  any  cloud  would 
interfere  to  stay  the  execution  either  of  Nature's  design,  or  that  of  the 
enamoured  Smythje.  To  all  appearances,  both  were  pretty  certain  to 
come  off. 

Some  two  hours  before  the  expected  contact  between  the  limbs  of  the 
two  great  luminaries — in  time  to  allow  of  leisurely  walking — Sinithje 
started  out,  of  course  accompanied  by  Miss  Kate  Vaughan.  Attendants 
there  wore  none :  for  the  exquisite  on  such  an  occasion  preferred  to  be 
alone ,  and  had  so  signified — declining  the  sable  escort  which  his  host 
had  provided. 

The  morning  was  one  of  the  brightest ;  and  the  scenes  through  which 
the  path  conducted  Mr.  Smythje  arid  his  fair  companion  were  among  the 
loveliest  to  be  found  in  the  domain  of  Nature. 

Around  the  dwelling  of  Mount  Welcome — in  its  gardens  and  parterres  | 
—the  eye  delighted  to  dwell  upon  a  variety  of  vegetable  forms,  both  in- 
digenous and  exotic — some  planted  for  shade  ;  some  for  the  r^auty  of 
their  blossoms  ;  and  others  for  their  fruit.  There  could  be  seen  the 
genip,  the  tamarind  of  Oriental  fame,  palms  of  several  species,  the  native 
pawpaw,*  and  the  curious  trumpet-tree.f  Distinguished  for  their  floral 
beauties  were  the  cordia,  the  oleander,  and  South  Sea  rose,  the  grand 
magnolia,  and  the  perfumed  Persian  liliac.J  Bearing  luscious  fruits,  were 
the  cashew,  the  mango,  and  Malay  apple  ;  the  sop,  the  guava,  with  every 
variety  of  the  citron  tribe,  as  oranges,  lemons,  limes,  and  the  huge  shad 
iock. 

f  Ceropia  peltate.          t  Melia  azedaraoh.     ; 


174  THE   SMYTHJE   ECLIPSE. 

Climbing  the  standard  trunks,  and  twining  around  the  branches  were 
parasites  of  many  species — rare  and  beautiful  flowering  plants  :  as  the 
wax-like  hoya  carnosa,  the  crimson  quarnoclit,  brassavolas,  ipomeas,  and 
other  magriiticent  orchids. 

It  was  a  scene  to  stir  the  soul  of  a  botanist  to  enthusiastic  admiration  ; 
resembling  a  vast  botanical  garden — some  grand  house  of  palms — having 
for  its  roof  the  azure  canopy  of  heaven. 

To  the  eyes  of  the  young  Creole — all  her  life  accustomed  to  look  upon  thOBf 
fair  vegetable  forms — there  was  nothing  in  the  sight  of  them  to  beget  as 
tonlshment ;  and  the  cockney  cared  but  little  for  trees.  His  late  ad- 
venture had  cured  him  of  that  inclination  for  a  forest  life  ;  and.  in  his 
eyes,  a  cabbage-palm  was  of  no  more  interest  than  a  cabbage. 

Smythje,  however,  was  not  unmusical.  Constant  attendance  at  the 
opera  had,  to  some  extent,  attuned  his  soul  to  song  ;  and  he  could  not 
help  expressing  some  surprise  at  the  melody  of  the  Western  songsters 
— so  much  misrepresented  and  maligned. 

In  truth,  upon  that  morning  they  appeared  to  be  giving  one  of  their 
grandest  concerts.  In  the  garden  groves  could  be  heard  the  clear  voice 
of  the  banana-bird,*  like  the  tones  of  a  clarionet,  mingling  with  the 
warbling  tones  of  the  blue  quit.f  There,  too,  could  be  seen  the  tiny 
vervain  humming-bird  ,J  seated  upon  the  summit  of  a  tall  mango  tree, 
trilling  out  its  attenuated  and  fairy-like  lay,  with  as  much  enthusiastic 
energy  as  if  its  little  soul  was  poured  forth  in  the  song. 

In  the  dark  mountain  woods  could  be  heard  other  songsters — the 
"  glass-eye  merle"g  singing  his  rich  and  long-continued  strain  ;  and,  at  in- 
tervals, the  wild,  plaintive  cry  of  the  "  solitaire,"||  uttered  in  sweet,  but 
solemn  notes,  like  the  cadence  chaunting  of  a  psalm — in  perfect  keeping 
with  the  solitude  which  this  singular  songster  affects. 

Above  all  could  be  distinguished  the  powerful  voice  of  the  New  World 
nightingale — the  far-fame  mock-bird,fl  excelling  all  the  other  music  of  the 
groves;  except  when  at  intervals  the  rare  May-bird**  condescends  to 
fling  his  melody  upon  the  breeze,  when  the  mock-bird  himself  instantly 
interrupts  his  lay,  and  becomes  a  listener ! 

Add  to  these  sounds  the  humming  of  bees,  the  continuous  "  skirling" 
of  grasshoppers,  lizards,  and  cicadas — the  metallic  clucking  of  tree- 
frogs,-^  the  rustling  of  the  breeze  among  the  lanceolate  leaves  of  the  tall 
bamboos,  and  the  sighing  of  a  cascade  among  the  distant  hills — add  these, 
and  you  may  have  some  idea  of  the  commingling  of  sounds  that  saluted 
the  ear  of  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje,  as,  with  his  fair  companion,  he  ascended 
the  mountain  slope. 

Cheerful  as  were  the  birds  and  brisk  the  bees,  Smythje  appeared  as 
cheerful  and  brisk  as  they.  He  was  gay  both  in  spirits  and  costume. 
Thorns  had  equipped  him  in  one  of  his  favourite  suits ;  and  his  spirits 
were  elevated  by  his  hopes. 

These,  for  several  days  past,  had  been  rapidly  mounting  higher,  in  the 
belief  or  fancy  that  Kate  had  been  kinder.  He  had  noticed  on  the  part 
of  the  young  Creole  a  gravity  of  demeanour  that  liad  not  shown  itself  on 

*  Icterus  leucopterus.  t  Euphonia  Jamaicns  }  Mellisuga  humid*. 

$  Mcrula  Jamaicensis.      I  Philiogonys  armillatufl.        tr  gee  "  Cfiaeell'g  Natural   History,1* 

**  TiusUis  muateiiaus.  ft  Hylades.  [vol.  iii,  p.  1J% 


THE   SMYTHJE    ECLIPSE*  175 

their  first  acquaintance — a  certain  abstractedness,  every  clay  on  the  in- 
crease— which  he,  Smythje,  could  only  explain  by  the  supposition  that 
she  was  in  love.  And.  who  oould  she  be  in  love  with,  but  himself? 

Thus  did  he  interpret  the  altered  air  of  Kate  Vaughan;  and  thus  did 
nis  vanity  point  out  the  cause.  No  wonder,  then,  he  had  come  to  the 
resolution  of  making  a  proposal,  and  had  high  hopes  of  receiving  an 
affirmative  answer. 

It  was  quite  true  that  the  young  Creole  appeared  to  be  suffering  Hei 
gaiety  was  almost  gone — at  times,  completely  so — and  in  its  place  might 
be  observed — long  spells  of  abstraction,  ending  generally  in  sighs. 

The  sympathetic  heart  of  Smythje  could  not  permit  this  state  of  things 
to  continue.  It  must  be  terminated.  The  sighs  of  Kate  Vaughan  must 
cease — her  spirit's  equanimity  must  be  restored  ! 

A  word  would  accomplish  all.  That  word  should  be  spoken,  and  or: 
that  very  day.  So  had  Smythje  resolved. 

With  this  determination,  he  ascended  the  mountain  slope,  chattering 
gaily  as  he  went — his  companion  walking  rather  silently  by  his  side. 

On  arriving  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  by  which  the  path  conducted 
to  the  summit,  Smythje  showed  his  courage  by  boldly  advancing  to  scale 
the  steep.  He  would  have  offered  a  hand  to  assist  his  fair  companion  ;  but 
in  the  climb  he  found  full  occupation  for  both ;  and  in  this  ungallant  man- 
ner was  he  compelled  to  continue  the  ascent. 

Kate,  however — who  was  accustomed  to  the  path,  and  could  possibly 
have  given  him  assistance — found  no  difficulty  in  following ;  and  in  a 
few  seconds  both  had  arrived  on  the  summit  of  the  rock,  and  stood  under 
the  shadow  of  the  palm. 

The  skeleton  form,  once  chained  to  the  tree,  was  no  longer  there  to 
fray  them.  It  had  been  mysteriously  removed,  as  also  a  number  of  skulls, 
which  a  reckless  dare-devil  the  of  neighbourhood  had  carried  up  on  some 
wild  freak.  The  rock  was  untenanted  by  any  living  thing,  except  the 
solitary  palm.  Xo  eye  was  there  to  see — no  ear  to  hear  the  "popping  of 
the  question,"  save  hers  for  whom  it  was  intended. 

Mr.  Smythje  consulted  his  repeater.  They  had  arrived  just  in  the 
nick  of  time.  In  five  minutes  the  eclipse  would  commence  ;  and  the 
discs  of  the  two  great  heavenly  orbs  would  be  in  contact. 

It  was  not  this  crisis,  however,  that  Smythje  had  chosen  for  the  cuo 
to  his  important  speech.  Nor  yet  the  moment  of  deepest  darkness  ;  bu< 
just  when  the  sun  should  begin  to  reappear,  and  by  his  renewed-bright- 
ening  symbolise  the  state  of  the  lover's  own  feelings. 

He  had  prepared  some  pretty  things  which  he  meant  to  say,  by  way  of 
ushering  in  the  declaration :  how  his  own  heart  might  be  compared  to 
the  sun — now  burning  with  passion — then  darkened  by  the  deep  deft- 
pair  ;  and  once  more  brightening  up,  with  rekindled  hope'  at  the  pro*- 
pect  of  Kate  making  him  the  happiest  of  "  mawtals." 

All  these,  and  many  other  pretty  speeches,  apropos  to  the  situation,  he 
intended  to  make. 

He  had  prepared  them  pit-a-pat  the  night  before,  and  gone  over  them 
with  Thorns  in  the  morning.  He  had  rehearsed  them  more  than  a  dozen 
times — ending  with  a  dress  rehearsal  just  before  starting  out. 


176  A  PROPOSAL   POSTPONED. 

Unless  tlie  eclipse  should  in  some  way  deprive  him  of  the  use  of  hit 
tongue,  there  could  be  no  danger  of  his  breaking  down. 

With  perfect  confidence  of  success,  the  romantic  Smythje  restoied  hia 
repeater  to  its  fob  ;  and,  with  sun-glass  in  hand,  awaited  the  coming  on 
of  the  eclipse. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

A      PROPOSAL      POSTPONED. 

SLOWLY,  silently,  and  still  unseen,  stole  the  soft  luminary  of  night  to- 
wards her  burning  god — till  a  slight  shadow  on  his  lower  limb  betoken- 
ed the  contact. 

"  Thaw,  it  is  !"  said  Smythje,  holding  the  glass  to  his  eye.  "  They 
awe  just  kissing,  like  two  lovaws.  How  pwetty  it  is !  Dawn't  yaw 
think  so,  fay  aw  Kate  ?" 

"  Rather  a  distant  kiss  for  lovers,  I  should  say — some  ninety  odd  mil- 
lions of  miles  between  them  !" 

"  Haw,  haw  !  veway  good,  veway  good  indeed  ?  And  in  that  sawt  of 
thing,  distance  dawn't  lend  enchantment  taw  the  view.  Much  bettaw  to 
be  neaw,  just  as  yaw  and  I  aw.  Dawn't  yaw  thing  so,  fayaw^Kate  ?" 

"  That  depends  upon  circumstances — whether  the  love  be  reciprocal." 

"  Wecipwocal ! — yas,  twoo  enough — thaw  is  something  in  that" 

"  A  great  deal,  1  should  think,  Mr.  Smythje.  For  instance,  were  I  a 
man,  and  my  sweetheart  was  frowning  on  me — as  yonder  moon  seems  to 
be  doing  with  his  majesty  the  sun — I  should  keep  my  distance,  though 
it  were  ninety  millions  of  miles." 

Had  Mr.  Smythje  at  that  moment  only  removed  the  glass  from  his  <  yef 
and  turned  towards  his  sweetheart,  he  might  have  read  in  her  looks  that 
the  speech  just  made  possessed  a  significance;  altogether  different  from 
the  interpretation  which  it  pleased  him  to  put  upon  it, 

"  Haw,  haw !  veway  pwetty  of  yaw,  '  pon  honaw.  But  yaw  anust 
wemembaw  that  yondaw  moon  has  two  faces.  In  that  she  wesembles  the 
queetyaw  called  woman.  Haw  bwight  face  is  tawned  towards  the  sun 
and  no  doubt  she  is  at  this  moment  smiling  upawn  the  fellaw.  Haw 
fwowns,  yaw  see,  awe  faw  us,  and  all  the  west  of  mankind  ;  thawlb'  she 
wesembles  a  devoted  queetyaw.  Dawn't  yaw  think  so,  fayaw  Kate  I" 

Kate  was  compelled  to  smile,  and  for  a  short  moment  regarded  Smythje 
with  a  glance  which  might  have  been  mistaken  for  admiration.  In  the 
analogy  which  the  exquisite  had  drawn  there  was  a  scintillation  of  intel- 
lect— the  more  striking,  that  it  was  not  expected  from  such  a  source. 
Withal,  the  glance  was  rather  indicative  of  surprise  than  admiration 
though  Smythje  evidently  interpreted  it  for  the  latter — his  self  esteem 
assisting  him  to  the  interpretation.  $ 

Before  she  could  make  reply,  he  repeated  the  interrogatory. 

*'  Oh,  yes,"  answered  she,  the  smile  gradually  vanishing  from  her  face  ; 
14 1  can  well  imagine,  Mr.  Smythje  that  your  simile  is  just.  I  should 
thiufc  that  a  wpman  who  loves  devotedly  would  not  bestow  her  smilea 


A  PROPOSAL   POSTPONED.  177 

Dn  any  other  than  him  she  loves ;  and  though  he  were  distant  as  jondef 
sun,  in  her  heart,  she  would  smile,  on  him  all  the  same." 

The  young  creole  as  she  spoke  lowered  her  eyes,  no  longer  regarding 
the  eclipse,  but  as  if  involuntarily  directing  her  glance  downward. 

"  Ah,  yes  1"  continued  she,  in  thought,  '*  and  even  it  alike  impossible 
for  them  ever  to  meet,  still  would  her  smiles  be  his.  Ah,  yes  I" 

For  some  seconds  she  remained  silent  and  abstracted.  Smythje  at- 
tracted by  the  altered  tone  of  her  voice,  had  taken  the  telescope  from 
his  eye,  and  turned  towards  her.  | 

Observing  the  abstracted  air  which  he  had  often  before  remarked,  he  j 
did  not  think  of  attributing  it  to  any  other  cause  than  that  which  nil  I 
vanity  had  already  divined. 

His  sympathetic  soul  was  ready  to  give  way;  and  he  was  almost  upom 
the  point  of  departing  from  the  programme  which  he  had  so  ingeniously 
traced  out.  But  the  remembrance  of  the  pretty  speeches  he  had  rehears- 
ed with  Thorns — and  the  thought  that  any  deviation  from  the  original 
design  would  deprive  him  of  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the  effects  which 
it  must  undoubtedly  produce — restrained  him  from  a  premature  declara- 
tion, and  he  remained  silent. 

It  did  not  hinder  him  from  some  unspoken  reflections. 

"  Po'  queetyaw !  evidently  suffwing !  Neithaw  distance  or  absence 
make  the  switest  impwessiori  upon  haw  love — not  the  switest.  Ba  Jawvel 
aw  feel  maw  than  half  inclined  to  bweak  the  spell,  and  reweive  haw 
fwom  haw  miseway.  But  naw — it  would  nevaw  do.  Aw  must  wesist 
the  temptation.  A  little  maw  suffwing  can  daw  no  harm,  since  the  situ- 
ation of  the  queetyaw  wesembles  the  -pwoverb  :  '  The  dawkest  houaw  is 
that  which  is  neawest  the  day.'  Haw !  haw !" 

And  with  this  fanciful  similitude  before  his  mind,  the  sympathetic  and 
self-denying  lover  concluded  his  string  of  complacent  reflections;  and,  re» 
turning  the  glass  to  his  eye,  once  more  occupied  himself  in  ogling  the 
eclipse. 

The  young  Creole,  seeing  him  thus  engaged,  withdrew  to  one  side;  and 
placing  herself  on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff,  stood  gazing  outward  and 
onward.  It  was  evident  that  the  grand  celestial  phenomenon  had  no 
attractions  for  her.  She  cared  not  to  look  upon  the  sun,  nor  the  moon, 
nor  the  stars,  that  would  soon  be  visible  in  the  fast  darkening  sky.  Her 
eyes,  like  her  thoughts,  were  turned  upon  the  earth;  and  as  the  penumbra 
began  to  cast  its  purple  shadow  over  the  fair  face  of  Nature,  so  could  a 
cloud  be  seen  overspreading  her  beautiful  countenance. 

There  was  now  deep  silence  below  and  around.  In  a  few  seconds  of 
time  a  complete  change  had  taken  place.  The  utterings  of  the  foresl 
were  no  longer  heard.  The  birds  had  suddenly  ceased  their  songs,  and 
if  their  voices  came  up  at  intervals,  it  was  in  screams  and  cries  that  de- 
noted fear.  Insects  and  reptiles  had  become  silent,  under  the  influence 
of  the  like  alarm.  The  more  melancholy  sounds  alone  continued — the 
sighing  oi  the  trees,  and  the  sough  of  the  distant  waterfall. 

This  transformation  reminded  Kate  Vaughan  of  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  her  heart.  Almost  equally  rapid  had  it  been — the  result 
of  only  a  few  days,  or  perhaps  only  hours :  for  the  once  gay  girl  had 
,  of  late,  habitually  grave  and  taciturn.  Well  might  she  compare 


178  A   PROPOSAL   POSTPONED. 

her  thoughts  1  the  forest  sounds.     The  cheerful  and  musical  were  gon* 
— those  that  were  melancholy  alone  remained  ! 

For  this  change  there  was  a  cause,  not  very  different  from  that  whifch 
Smythje  had  divined.  He  was  right  in  assigning  it  to  that  passion — the 
most  powerful  of  a  woman's  heart. 

Only  as  to  the  object  of  that  passion  did  Mr.  Smythje  labour  under  a 
misconception.  His  self-conceit  had  guided  him  to  a  very  erroneous 
conjecture.  Could  he  have  devined  the  thoughts,  at  that  moment  pass- 
ing in  the  mind  of  his  fair  companion,  it  would  have  completely  cured 
him  of  the  misapprehension  fchat  he  was  himself  the  maker  of  that  mel- 
ancholy. 

The  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome  was  in  sight,  gaily  glittering  among 
its  gorgeous  groves.  It  was  not  upon  it  that  the  eyes  of  Kate  Vaughau 
weie  bent ;  but  upon  a  sombre  pile,  shadowed  by  great  cotton  trees,  that 
lay  in  the  adjoining  valley.  Her  heart  was  with  her  eyes. 

"  Happy  Valley !  "  soliloquised  she,  her  thoughts  occasionally  escaping 
in  low  murmurs  from  her  lips.  "  Happy  for  hztn,  no  doubt!  There  has 
he  found  a  welcome  and  a  home,  denied  him  by  those  whose  duty  it  was 
to  have  offered  both.  There  has  he  found  hospitality  among  strangers ; 
and  there,  too 

The  young  girl  paused,  as  if  unwilling  to  give  words  to  the  thought 
that  had  shaped  itself  in  her  mind. 

"  No,"  continued  she,  unable  to  avoid  the  painful  reflection  ;  "  I  need 
not  shut  my  eyes  upon  the  truth.  It  is  true  what  I  have  been  told — very 
true,  I  am  sure.  There  has  he  found  one  to  whom  he  has  given  his 
heart!" 

A  sigh  of  deep  anguish  succeeded  the  thought. 

"  Ah ! "  she  exclaimed,  resuming  the  sad  soliloquy  ;  "  he  promised  me  a 
strong  arm  and  a  stout  heart,  if  I  should  ever  need  them.  Ah,  me  1 
promise  now  bitter  to  be  remembered — no  longer  possible  to  be  kept  j 
And  the  ribbon  he  was  to  prize  so  highly — which  gave  me  such  joy  as 
he  said  it?  Only  another  promise  broken!  Poor  little  souvenir !  no 
doubt,  long  ere  this,  cast  aside  and  forgotten !  ah,  me  1" 

Again  the  sigh  interrupted  the  soliloquy.  After  a  time  it  proceeded: — 

44  4  We  may  never  meet  more  ! '  These  were  among  his  last  words. 
A  las  !  too  prophetic  I  Better,  now,  we  never  should.  Better  this,  than 
to  meet  him — with  her  by  his  side — Judith  Jessuron — his  wife — his  wife 
—oh!" 

The  last  exclamation  was  uttered  aloud,  and  with  an  undisguised  accent 
of  anguish. 

Smythje  heard  it,  and  started  as  he  did  so — letting  the  sun-glass  fall 
trorn  his  fingers. 

Looking  around,  he  perceived  his  companion  standing  apart — unheed- 
ing as  she  was  unheeded — with  head  slightly  drooping,  and  eyes  turned 
downward  upon  the  rock — her  face  still  bearing  the  expression  of  pro- 
found anguish  which  her  thoughts  had  called  forth. 

The  heart  of  Smythje  melted  within  him.  He  knew  her  complaint — 
ho  knew  its  cure.  The  remedy  was  in  his  hands.  Was  it  right  any 
longer  to  withhold  it  ?  A  word  from  him,  and  that  sad  face  would  bo 
instantly  suii'used  with  smiles  I  Should  that  word  be.  spoken  or  post- 
poned ? 


THE   OBBCUBATION.  179 

Spoken  1  prompted  humanity.  Spoken!  echoed  SmythjVs  sympaihetic 
heart.  Yes  !  Perish  the  cue  and  the  climax !  Perish  the  fine  speech 
and  the  rehearsal  with  Thorns — perish  everything  to  "  welieve  the  deaw 
queetyaw  fwom  the  agony  she  is  suffawing !" 

With  this  noble  resolve,  the  confident  lover  stopped  up  to  the  side  of 
his  beloved,  leaving  a  distance  of  some  three  feet  between  them.  His 
movements  were  those  of  a  man  about  entering  upon  the  performance  of 
some  ceremonial  of  the  grandest  importance  and  solemnity ;  and  to  Mr 
Smythje  such,  in  reality,  it  was. 

The  look  of  wild  surprise,  with  which  the  young  Creole  regarded 
them,  neither  deterred  him  from  proceeding,  nor  in  any  wise  interfered 
with  the  air  of  solemn  gravity  which  his  countenance  had  all  at  once  as- 
sumed. 

Bending  one  knee  down  upon  the  rock — where  he  had  dropped  the 
glass — and  placing  his  left  hand  over  the  region  of  his  heart,  while  with 
the  right  he  raised  his  hat  some  six  inches  above  his  perfumed  head, 
there  and  then  he  was  about  to  unburthen  himself  of  that  speech  studied 
for  the  occasion — committed  to  Smythje's  memory  and  more  than  a  dozen 
times  already  delivered  in  the  hearing  of  Thorns — there  and  then,  was 
he  on  the  eve  of  offering  to  Kate  Vaughan  his  hand,  his  heart— his  whole 
love  and  estate — when  just  at  this  formidable  crisis,  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders of  a  man  appeared  above  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  behind,  a  black 
plumed  beaver  hat,  shadowing  the  face  of  a  beautiful  woman. 

Herbert  Vaughan  1 —Judith  Jessuronl 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE      OBSCURATION. 

"  INTAWUPTED  1"  exclaimed  Smythje,  briskly  restoring  his  person  to  its 
eiect  position.  "  What  an  infawnal  baw  1"  he  continued,  drawing  out  his 
handkerchief,  and  dusting  the  knee  on  which  he  had  been  kneeling.  **  Aw 
wondaw  who  are  the  intwoodaws  !  Aw  !  ah  1  It's  the  young  fella w,  yaw 
cousin  ?  Shawly  it  is  ;  and — a — a  pwetty  girl  with  him — a  doosed  pwetty 
girl,  ba  Jawve !" 

A  satirical  titter,  loud  enough  to  be  termed  a  laugh,  was  heard  issuing 
from  between  the  white  teeth  of  the  Jewess.  It  somewhat  discomfited 
Smythje,  since  he  knew  that  the  satire  could  only  be  pointed  at  the  ri- 
diculous tdbkau  just  broken  up,  and  of  which  he  had  himself  been  the 
conspicuous  figure.  His  sang-froid,  however,  did  not  quite  forsake  him, 
for  the  cockney  possessed  considerable  presence  of  mind — the  offspring 
of  an  infinite  superciliousness.  This  at  the  moment  came  to  his  relief, 
bringing  with  it  an  idea,  that  promised  to  rescue  him  from  his  embarrass- 
ment. The  spy-glass  lying  upon  the  rock  suggested  the  idea. 

Dropping  upon  his  knee — in  an  attitude  similar  to  that  from  which  he 
had  just  arisen — he  took  up  the  telescope,  and  once  more  rising  to  his 
feet,  presented  it  to  Kate  Vaughan,  as  she  stood  bent  and  blushing. 

The  ruse  was  well  intended,  and  not  badly  executed  ;  but  Mr.  Smythja 
bad  tp  deal  with  one  as  cunning  as  hiingelf.  It  was  of  no  use  endeavour 


|30  THE   OBSCURATION. 

ing  to  throw  dust  in  the  "keen,  quick  eyes  of  Judith 

laugh  was  repeated,  only  in  a  louder  and  more  quizzical  touts. 

It  ended  in  Smythje  himself  joining  in  the  laughter,  which,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  the  very  best  course  he  could  have  pursued. 

Notwithstanding  the  absurdity  of  the  situation,  Herbert  did  not  seem 
to  share  in  his  companion's  mirth.     On  the  contrary,  a  shadow  was  visible 
upon  his  brow — not  that  produced  by  the  gradually  deepening  twilight  [ 
of  the  eclipse — but  one  that  had  spread  suddenly  over  his  face  at  sight 
of  the  kneeling  Smythje. 

"  Miss  Vaughan !"  pronounced  the  Jewess,  springing  lightly  upon  the 
rock,  and,  with  a  nod  of  recognition,  advancing  towards  the  young  Creole 
and  her  companion  ;  "  an  unexpected  pleasure  this  1  I  hope  we  are  not 
intruding  ?" 

"  Not  at  all — nothing  of  the  sawt,  aw  ashaw  yaw,"  replied  Smythje, 
with  one  of  his  profoftndest  bows. 

"  Mr.  Smythje— Miss  Jessuron,"  interposed  Kate,  perforning  the  duty 
of  introduction  with  dignified  but  courteous  politeness. 

"  We  have  climbed  up  to  view  this  eclipse,"  continued  ."  udith.  "  The 
same  errand  as  yourselves,  I  presume  ?"  added  she,  with  a  glance  of 
quizzical  malignity  directed  towards  Kate. 

"  Aw,  'yas  !  sawtinly  1"  stammered  out  Smythje,  as  if  slightly  confused 
by  the  inuendo  of  the  interrogative.  "  That  is  pwecisely  the  pawpose 
which  bwought  us  heaw — to  view  this  cewestial  phenomenon  fwom  the 
Jumbe  Rock.  A  spwendid  obserwatowy  it  is,  ba  Jawve  1" 

"  You  have  had  the  advantage  of  us,"  rejoined  Judith.  "  I  feared  we 
should  arrive  too  late.  Perhaps,  we  are  soon  enough  ?" 

The  satirical  tone  and  glance  were  reiterated. 

Perhaps  Kate  Vaughan  did  not  perceive  the  meaning  of  this  ambigu- 
ous interrogatory,  though  addressed  to  her  even  more  pointedly  than  the 
former  ;  at  all  events,  she  did  not  reply  to  it  Her  eyes  and  thoughts 
were  elsewhere. 

"  Quite  in  time,  Miss  Jessuwon  I"  answered  Smythje.  "  The  ekwipse  is 
fawsj;  assuming  a  most  intewesting  phase.  In  a  few  minutes  the  sun  will 
be  in  penumbwa.  If  yaw  will  step  this  way,  yaw  may  get  a  bettaw 
standing-place.  Pawmit  me  to  offaw  yaw  the  tewescope  ?  Aw,  haw  !" 
continued  he,  addressing  himself  to  Herbert,  who  had  just  come  forward, 
•*  aw,  how  do,  ma  fwend  ?  Happy  to  have  the  pwesyaw  of  meeting  you 
again." 

As  he  said  this,  he  held  out  his  hand,  with  a  single  finger  projecting  bo- 
yond  the  others. 

Herbert,  though  declining  the  proffered  finger,  returned  the  salutation 
with  sufficient  courtesy;  and  Smythje,  turning  aside  to  attend  upon 
Judith,  escorted  her  to  that  edge  ot  the  platform  facing  towards  the 
eclipse. 

By  this  withdrawal — perhaps  little  regretted  by  either  of  the  cousins — 
they  were  left  comparatively  alone. 

A  bow,  somewhat  stiff  and  formal,  was  the  only  salutation  that  had  yet 
passed  between  them ;  and,  even  for  some  seconds  after  the  others  h*d 
gone  aside,  they  remained  without  speaking  to  each  other. 

Herbert  wap  the  first  to  break  the  embarrassing  silence, 


THE   OBSCURATION.  181 

u  Miss  Vaughan  I"  said  he,  endeavouring  to  conceal  the  emotion  which, 
however,  his  trembling  voice  betrayed,  "I  fear  oar  presence  here  will  be 
considered  an  intrusion  ?  I  would  have  retire'd,  but  that  my  companion 
willed  it  otherwise." 

"  Miss  Vaughan!"  mentally  repeated  the  young  Creole,  as  the  phrase  foil 
strangely  upon  her  ear,  prompting  her,  perhaps,  to  a  very  different  re- 
joinder from  that  she  would  otherwise  have  made. 

"  Since  you  could  not  follow  your  own  inclination,  perhaps  it  was  wisei 
for  you  to  remain.  Your  presence  here,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  is  no 
intrusion,  I  assure  you.  As  for  my  companion,  he  appears  satisfied 
enough,  does  he  not?" 

The  rapid  exchange  of  words,  with  an  occasional  cachinnation,  heard 
from  the  other  side  of  the  rock,  told  that  a  gay  conversation  was  going 
on  between  Sinythje  and  the  Jewess. 

"  I  regret  that  our  arrival  should*  have  led  even  to  your  temporary 
separation.  Shall  I  take  Mr.  Smythje's  place,  and  permit  him  to  rejoin 
you?" 

The  reply  was  calculated  to  widen  the  breach  between  the  two 
cousins. 

It  was  indebted  for  its  character  to  the  interpretation  which  Herbert 
had  placed  upon  Kate's  last  interrogatory. 

"  Certainly,  if  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  you  to  do  so,"  retorted 
Kate,  in  a  tone  of  defiant  bitterness. 

Here  a  pause  occurred  in  the  conversation,  which  from  the  first  had 
been  carried  on — defiance  against  defiance.  It  was  Herbert's  turn  to 
speak ;  but  the  challenge  conveyed  in  Kate's  last  words  placed  him  in  a 
position  where  it  was  not  easy  to  make  an  appropriate  rejoinder,  and  he 
remained  silent. 

It  was  now  the  crisis  of  the  eclipse — the  moment  of  deepest  darkness. 
The  sun's  disc  had  become  completely  obscured  by  the  opaque  orb  of  the 
night ;  and  the  earth  lay  lurid  under  the  sombre  shadow.  Stars  appeared 
in  the  sky,  to  show  that  the  universe  still  existed  ;  and  those  voices  of 
the  forest,  heard  only  in  nocturnal  hours,  came  pealing  up  to  the  summit 
of  the  rock — a  testimony  that  terrestrial  nature  was  not  yet  extinct. 

It  was  equally  a  crisis  between  two  loving  hearts.  Though  standing 
near,  those  wild  words  had  outlawed  them  from  each  other,  far  more  than 
if  ten  thousand  miles  extended  between  them.  The  darkness  without 
I  was  nought  to  the  darkness  within.  In  the  sky  there  were  stars  to  de- 
light the  eye — from  the  forest  came  sounds  to  solace  the  soul;  but  no 
star  illumined  the  horizon  of  their  hearts  with  its  ray  of  hope — no  sound 
of  joy  cheered  the  silent  gloom  that  bitterly  embraced  them. 

For  some  minutes  not  a  word  was  exchanged  between  the  cousins  ;  noi 
spoke  either  to  those  who  were  their  sharers  in  the  spectacle.  Theso, 
too,  were  silent.  The  solemnity  of  the  scene  had  made  its  impression 
upon  all ;  and,  against  the  dark  background  of  the  sky,  the  figures  of  all 
four  appeared  in  sombre  sil-houette — motionless  as  the  rock  on  which  they 
stood. 

Thus  for  some  minutes  they  stood,  without  exchanging  word  or  thought. 
Side  by  side  they  wore,  so  near  and  s  silent,  that  each  might  have  heard 
the  breathing  of  the  oth«r. 


182 

The  situation  was  one  of  painful  embarrassment,  and  might  have 
still  more  so,  but  for  the  eclipse;  which,  just  them  complete,  shrouded 
both  in  the  deep  obscurity  of  its  shadow,  and  hindered  them  from  ob- 
serving one  another 

Only  for  a  short  while  did  the  darkness  continue  ;  the  eclipse  soon  re- 
assuming  the  character  of  a  penumbra. 

One  by  one  the  stars  disappeared  from  the  canopy  of  the  sky — no\f 
hastening  to  recover  its  azure  hue.  The  creatures  of  darkness,  wonder 
irig  at  the  premature  return  of  day,  sank  cowering  into  a  terrified  silence 
and  the  god  of  the  heavens,  coming  forth  triumphantly  from  the  cloud 
that  had  for  a  short  while  concealed  him,  once  more  poured  his  efful- 
gence upon  the  »>arth. 

The  re-dawning  of  the  light  showed  the  cousins  still  standing  in  the 
same  relative  position  —unchanged  even  as  to  their  attitudes. 

During  the  interval  of  darkness  Herbert  had  neither  stirred  nor 
spoken ;  and  after  the  harsh  rejoinder  to  which,  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
pique,  the  young  Creole  had  given  words,  it  was  not  her  place  to  continue 
the  conversation. 

Pained  though  Herbert  was  by  his  cousin's  reply,  he  nevertheless  re- 
membered his  indebtedness  to  her — the  vows  he  had  made — the  proud 
proffer  at  parting.  Was  he  now  to  repudiate  the  debt  of  gratitude,  and 
prove  faithless  to  his  promise?  Was  he  to  pluck  from  his  breast  that 
silken  souvenir,  still  sheltering  there,  though  in  secret  and  unseen  ? 

True,  it  was  but  the  memorial  of  an  act  of  friendship — of  mere  cousin- 
ly kindness.  He  had  never  had  reason  to  regard  it  in  any  other  light ; 
and  now,  more  than  ever,  was  he  sure  it  had  no  higher  signification. 

She  had  never  said  she  loved  him — never  said  a  word  that  could  give 
him  the  right  to  reproach  her.  On  her  side  there  was  no  repudiation, 
since  there  had  been  no  compromise.  It  was  unjust  to  condemn  her — 
cruel  to  defy  her,  as  he  had  done. 

That  she  loved  another — was  that  a  crime. 

Herbert  now  knew  that  she  loved  another — was  sure  of  it>  as  that  he 
Btood  upon  the  Jumbe  Rock.  That  interrupted  tableau  had  left  him  no 
loop  to  hang  a  doubt  on.  The  relative  position  of  the  parties  proclaimed 
the  purpose — a  proposal. 

The  kneeling  lover  may  not  have  obtained  his  answer  ;  but  who  could 
doubt  what  that  answer  was  to  have  been  ?  The  situation  itself  declared 
consent. 

Bitter  as  were  these  reflections,  Herbert  made  an  effort  to  subdue 
them.  He  resolved,  if  possible,  to  stifle  his  spleen  ;  and,  upon  the  ruin 
of  his  hopes,  restore  that  relationship — the  only  one  that  could  now  exist 
between  himself  and  his  cousin — friendship. 

With  a  superhuman  effort  he  succeeded  ;  and  this  triumph  of  virtue 
over  spite,  backed  by  the  strongest  inclinings  of  the  heart,  for  a  moment 
solaced  his  spirit,  and  rendered  it  calmer. 

Alas  1  that  such  triumph  can  be  only  temporary.  The  struggle  upon 
which  he  was  entering,  was  one  in  which  no  man  has  ever  succeeded. 
Love  undenied,  may  end  in  friendship*;  but  love  thwarted  or  unrecipro- 
cated, never  1 


AN    ESCOtTNTEft   OF  EYES. 

"JS"ow,  V.!IO:T  (lie  r-\vifi  Klioiio  cleaves  hi?  way  Vmtween 
Heights,  that  appear  as  lovers  wlio  have  parted 
ID  hate,  whose  mining  depths  HO  intervene, 
That  they  can  meet  no  more,  though  broken  hearted ; 
Though  in  ttu-ir  souls,  which  thus  each  other  thwarted, 
Love  was  the  very  root  of  the  fond  rage 
Which  blighted  their  life's  bloom " 

Herbert  Vaughan  was  perhaps  too  young — too  inexperienced  in  the 
•flairs  of  the  heart — to  have  ever  realised  the  sentiments  so  expressed  ; 
rise  would  he  have  desisted  from  his  idle  attempt,  and  surrendered  him 
•elf  at  once  to  the  despair  that  was  certain  to  succeed  it. 

Innocent — perhaps  happily  so — of  the  knowledge  of  these  recondite 
truths,  he  yeilded  to  the  nobler  resolve — ignorant  of  the  utter  impracti- 
cability of  its  execution. 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

AN  ENCOUNTER  OF   EYES. 
I 

WHILE  Herbert  Vaughan  was  making  these  reflections,  the  light  began  fc 
re-dawn — gradually,  as  it  were,  raising  the  veil  from  the  face  of  his  cous- 
in. He  could  not  resist  turning  to  gaze  upon  it. 

During  the  interval  of  obscurity,  a  change  had  passed  over  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  young  girl,  both  In  its  hue  and  expression.  Herbert 
noticed  the  change.  It  even  startled  him.  Before,  and  during  the  unhap- 
py dialogue,  he  had  looked  upon  a  flushed  cheek,  a  fiery  eye,  an  air 
proud  and  haughty,  with  all  the  indices  of  defiant  indifference. 

All  were  gone.  Kate's  eyes  still  sparkled,  but  with  a  milder  light ;  a 
uniform  pallor  overspread  her  cheeks,  as  if  the  eclipse  had  robbed  them 
of  their  roses ;  and  the  proud  air  had  entirely  disappeared,  replaced  by  an 
expression  of  sadness,  or  rather  of  pain. 

Withall,  the  face  was  lovely  as  ever — lovelier,  thought  Herbert. 

Why  that  sudden  transformation  ?  What  had  caused  it  ?  Whence 
sprang  that  painful  thought  that  was  betraying  itself  in  the  pale  cheek 
and  lips  compressed  and  quivering  ?  Was  it  the  happiness  of  another 
that  was  making  that  misery  ?  Smythje  seemed  happy — very  happy,  to 
judge  by  his  oft-repeated  "haw  !  haw  ! " 

Was  this  the  cause  of  that  expression  of  extreme  sadness  ? 

So  did  Herbert  interpret  it. 

Making  a  fresh  effort  to  subdue  within  himself  the  same  spirit  which 
he  believed  to  \rd  actuating  his  cousin,  he  remained  silent — though  unable 
to  withdraw  his  glance  from  that  lorn  but  lovely  face. 

While  still  gazing,  upon  it,  a  sigh  escaped  him.  It  could  scarce  have 
been  heard  by  her  who  stood  nearest;  nor  hers  by  him:  for  she  also 
sighed,  and  at  the  same  instant  of  time  1  Perhaps  both  were  moved  by 
tome  secret  sympathetic  instinct  ? 

Herbert  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  another  momentary  triumph  ovei 
his  emotions  :  and  was  once  more  on  the  eve  of  uttering  words  of  friend 
ship,  when  the  young  girl  looked  up  and  reciprocated  his  gaze.  It  was 
the  first  time  during  the  interview  their  eyes  had  met :  for  up  to  that 
moment  Kate  had  only  regarded  her  cousin  with  furtive  glance*. 


184  AN   ENCOUNTER  OF  EYES. 

For  some  seconds  they  stood  face  to  face — each  gazing  into  the  eyes  ol 
the  other,  as  if  both  were  the  victims  of  some  irresistible  fascination. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  them — their  very  breathing  was  stilled. 
Both  seemed  to  consider  the  time  too  important  for  speech :  for  they 
were  seeking  in  one  another's  eyes — those  faithful  mirrors  of  the  sou]  — 
those  truest  interpreters  of  the  heart — the  solution  of  that,  the  most  in- 
teresting enigma  of  their  existence. 

1  his  silent  interrogation  was  instinctive  as  mutual — uncorrupted  by  a 
shadow  of  coquetry.      It  was  bold  and  reckless  as  innocence  itself — un- 
ding    outward  observation.    What    cared  they  for  the  eclipse? 
for  the  sun,  or  the  moon,  or  the  waning  stars  ?    What  for  the  uni- 
verse itself  ?    Less — far  less  for  those  human  forms  that  chanced  to  be 
so  near  them  1 

Drew  they  gratification  from  that  mutual  gaze  ?  They  must — else  why 
had  they  continued  it  ? 

Not  for  long  :  not  for  long  were  they  allowed.  An  eye  was  upon  them 
—the  eye  of  that  beautiful  demon. 

Ah !  fair  Judith,  thy  flirtation  has  proved  a  failure.  The  ruse  has 
recoiled  upon  thyself ! 

The  golden  sunlight  once  more  fell  upon  the  Jumbe  rock,  revealing  the 
forms  of  four  individuals — all  youthful — all  in  love,  though  two  only 
were  beloved ! 

The  returning  light  brought  no  joy  to  Judith  Jessuron. 

It  revealed  to  her  that  glance  of  mutual  fascination  which,  with  a 
quick,  sharp  cry,  she  had  interrupted. 

A  bitter  embarrassment  seemed  all  at  once  to  have  seized  upon  her 
proud  spirit,  and  dragged  it  into  the  dust. 

Skilled  in  the  silent  language  of  the  eyes,  she  had  read  in  those  of 
Herbert  Vaughan,  as  he  bent  them  upon  his  cousin,  an  expression  that 
stung  her,  even  to  the  utterance  of  a  scream ! 

From  that  moment  the  flirtation  with  Smythje  ceased;  and  the  cock 
ney  exquisite  was  forsaken  in  the  most  unceremonious  manner — left  to 
continue  his  telescopic  observations  alone. 

The  conversation  was  no  longer  dos  y  dos,  but  at  once  changed  to  a  triot 
and  finally  restored  to  its  original  quartette  form — soon,  however,  to  bo 
broken  up  by  an  abrupt  separation  of  the  parties. 

The  Jewess  was  the  first  to  propose  departure — the  first  to  make  it. 
She  descended  from  the  Jumbe  rock  in  a  lees  lively  mood  than  that  IB 
which  she  had  climbed  up  to  it ;  inwardly  anathematising  the  eclipse, 
and  the  fortune  that  had  guidtd  fe&r  to  the  choice  of  such  an  ill-starred 
observatory. 

Herbert  Vaughan  was,  of  course,  compelled  to  accompany  her. 

Gladly  would  the  young  man  have  continued  that  silent  duet  of  the 
eyes — glad  would  he  have  been  to  stay  longer  on  the  summit ;  but  the 
partner  of  the  excursion  was,  at  least,  in  one  sense,  his  mistress;  and 
something  more  than  mere  courtesy  required  compliance  with  her 
wishes. 

A  certain  air  of  hesitancy,  as  he  stepped  down  from  tho  rock,  betrayed 
the  irksomeness  he  experienced  at  that  abrupt  departure. 

Perhaps,  had  their  interview  been  prolonged,  the  cousins  might  hare 
separated  with  a  better  understanding  of  each  other,  than  was  expressed 
iu  that  cold,  ceremonious  adie^  with  which  they  parted. 


THE  SMYTHJE  BALL.  185 

Smythje  and  Kate  Vaughan  were  once  more  alone  upon  the  summit  of 
the  rock;  and  the  supercilious  lover  was  now  free  to  continue  the  decla- 
ration. 

One  might  suppose  that  he  would  have  instantly  dropped  tack  upon 
his  knees,  and  finished  the  performance  so  vexatiously  interrupted. 

Not  so,  however.  The  spirit  of  Smythje's  dream  seemed  equally  to 
have  undergone  a  change  ;  as  if  he,  too,  had  seen  something. 

His  air  of  high  confidence  had  departed,  as  also  the  climax  on  which 
ae  had  counted  :  for  the  sun's  disc  was  now  quite  clear  of  the  eclipse, 
and  the  pretty  speeches,  intended  for  an  anterior  time,  would  now  have 
been  pointless  arid  inappropriate. 

Whether  it  was  this  that  influenced  him,  or  a  presentiment  that  the 
offer  of  his  heart  and  hand  might  just  then  stand  some  chance  of  a  rejec- 
tion, can  never  be  known:  since  Smythje,  who  alone  could  divulge  it,  nas 
left  no  record  of  the  reason. 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  the  proposal  did  not  take  place  on  the 
Jumbe  rock  on  the  day  of  the  eclipse  ;  but  waa  postponed,  sine  die,  to 
some  future  occasion. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

THE    SMYTHJE    BALL. 

As  if  the  eclipse  had  not  been  a  sufficient  climax  to  the  round  of  *  fetaa* 
got  up  for  the  express  amusement  of  Mr.  Smythje,  only  a  few  days — or, 
rather,  nights — after,  still  another  was  inaugurated,  to  do  honour  to  thin 
young  British  lion. 

Unlike  the  eclipse,  it  was  a  terrestrial  phenomenon — one  of  the  most 
popular  of  sublunary  entertainments — a  ball — a  complimentary  ball — Mr. 
Smythje  the  recipient  of  the  compliment. 

Montego  Bay  was  to  be  the  place  ;  which,  notwithstanding  its  provin- 
ciality, had  long  been  celebrated  for  its  brilliant  assemblies — from  the 
time  that  fandangoes  were  danced  by  the  old  Spanish  pork-butchers, 
down  to  that  hour  when  Mr.  Montagu  Smythje  had  condescended  to 
hono^ir  its  salons  by  the  introduction  of  some  very  fashionable  steps 
from  the  world's  metropolis. 

The  ball  was  to  be  a  grand  affair — one  of  the  grandest  ever  given  in 
the  Bay — and  all  Plauterdom  was  expected  to  be  present. 

Of  course,  Kate  Vaughan  would  be  there ;  and  so,  too,  the  Custot 
himself. 

Mr.  Smythje  would  be  the  hero  of  the  night ;  and,  as  such,  surrounded 
by  the  fairest  of  the  fair — hedged  in  by  a  galaxy  of  beautiful  belles,  and 
beset  by  an  army  of  match-making  parents,  all  seeking  success  with  as 
much  eagerness  as  Loftus  Vaughan  himself. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  would  be  but  simple  prudence  thai 
Kate  should  be  there  to  look  after  him :  for  the  worthy  Gustos  was  not 
unacquainted  with  the  adage,  that  "  The  sweetest  smelling  flower  is  that 
Dearest  the  nose." 

Mr*  Vaughan  would  have  rejoiced  at  the  opportunity  thus  offered,  off 


186  THJ3  SMYTHJJE  BAU* 

letting  all  the  monde  of  Jamaica  know  the  relatioiiRhip  in  whtcn  he  stood 
and  was  likely  to  stand,  to  the  distinguished  individual  to  whom  tht 
entertainment  was  dedicated.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  Kate  would  be 
chosen  as  the  conspicuous  partner:  for  well  knew  lie  the  condition  of  Mr. 
Smythje's  mind  upon  that  subject.  To  him  the  latter  had  made  no 
secret  of  his  affections  ;  and  the  cunning  Gustos,  who  had  been  all  along 
warily  watching  the  development  of  the  passion,  now  knew  to  a  certain- 
ty that  tne  heart  of  Montagu's  lord  was  not  only  smitten  with  his  daugh 
ter,  but  was  irretrievably  lost — so  far  as  such  a  heart  could  suffer  love's 
perdition. 

No  doubt,  then.  Mr.  Vaughan  would  have  looked  forward  to  the 
Smythje  ball  with  pleasant  anticipation — as  likely  to  afford  him  a  social 
triumph — but  for  a  little  circumstance  that  had  lately  come  to  his  knowl- 
edge. It  was  the  incident  which  had  transpired  on  the  '  Jurnbe  Rock' — the 
meeting  between  his  daughter  and  nephew  on  the  day  of  the  eclipse. 

The  Gustos  had  been  the  more  particular  in  obtaining  the  details  of 
that  interview  from  his  presumptive  son-in-law,  on  account  of  a  suspicion 
that  had  arisen  in  his  mind,  as  to  the  inclinings  of  his  daughter's  heart. 
Something  she  had  said — during  the  first  days  after  Herbert's  Irusqv* 
dismissal  from  Mount  Welcome — some  sympathetic  expression  she  had 
made  use  of — unguarded  and  overheard,  had  given  rise  to  this  suspicion 
of  her  father. 

He  was  sufficiently  annoyed  about  Kate  having  met  Herbert  on  the 
'  Jumbe  Rock';  and  believed  it  quite  possible  that  the  latter  had  come 
there  in  the  hope  of  encountering  his  cousin. 

In  Mount  Welcome  the  name  of  Herbert  Vaughan  was  no  longer 
heard.  Even  Kate — whether  it  was  that  she  had  grown  more  sage — for 
she  had  been  chided  more  than  once  for  introducing  it  into  the  conversa- 
tion— or  whether  she  had  ceased  to  think  of  him — even  she  never  pro- 
nounced his  name. 

For  all  that,  Mr.  Vaughan  was  still  vexed  with  some  lingering  suspi- 
cion that  in  that  direction  lurked  danger ;  and  this  determined  him  to 
prevent,  as  far  as  possible,  any  further  interview  between  his  daughter 
and  nephew. 

After  the  encounter  on  the '  Jumbe  Rock,'  he  had  taken  his  daughter  to 
task  upon  this  subject ;  and  using  the  full  stretch  of  parental  authority 
compelled  her  to  a  solemn  promise,  that  she  was  not  again  to  speak  to 
her  cousin,  nor  even  acknowledge  his  presence  1 

It  was  a  hard  promise  for  the  poor  girl  to  make.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  still  harder,  had  she  known  Herbert's  disposition  towards 
her? 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  her  father,  in  extracting  this  promise,  had 
in  view  the  event  about  to  take  place — the  grand  Smythjo  ball.  There  an 
encoun ter  between  the  cousins  was  not  only  possible,  but  probable;  so 
much  so  as  to  render  Mr.  Vaughan  apprehensive.  Judith  Jessuron  was 
Bure  to  be  present — perhaps  the  Jew  himself ;  and  Herbert,  of  course. 

The  nephew  was  now  cordially  disliked.  Sturig  by  the  defiant  speeches 
which  the  young  man  had  made  on  the  day  of  his  arrival,  his  uncle  even 
detested  him ;  for  the  proud  planter  was  himself  too  poor  in  spirit  to 
admire  this  quality  in  any  one  else. 

The  Cuitos  had  heard  all  about  the  hospitality  which  his  neighbour  wai 


SMYl'HJE   BALI.  187 

extending  to  Herbert,  and  the  kindness  which  the  patron  was  lavishing 
upon  his  protege.  Though  not  a  little  mystified  by  what  was  going  on, 
he  availed  himself  of  the  ordinary  explanation — that  it  was  done  to  vex 
himself ;  and,  if  so,  the  stratagem  of  the  Jew  was  proving  perfectly  suc- 
cessful :  for  vexed  was  Mr.  Vaughan  to  his  very  heart's  core. 

The  night  of  the  Smythje  ball  came  round  in  due  course.  The  grand 
ball-room  of  the  Bay  was  decorated  as  became  the  occasion.  Flags,  fes- 
toons, and  devices  were  hung  around  the  walls  ;  and  over  the  doorway 
a  large  transparency — supported  by  the  loyal  emblems  of  the  Union  Jack 
and  banner  of  St.  George,  and  surmounted  by  the  colonial  colours — pro- 
claimed, in  letters  of  eighteen  inches  diameter:—  "WELCOME  TO 
SMYTHJE  1" 

The  hour  arrived  ;  the  band  shortly  after  ;  close  followed  by  strings  of 
carriages  of  every  kind  current  in  the  island,  containing  scores— ey, 
hundreds  of  dancers.  *  Twenty  miles  was  nothing  to  go  to  a  Jamaica 
ball.  Mount  Welcome,  though  more  than  ten  (for  Quashie's  estimate  of 
"  fo'  mile"  was  far  wide  of  the  mark)  was  near,  compared  with  the  dis- 
tances which  some  of  the  dancers  travelled  to  be  present  at  the  Smythje 
ball. 

The  grand  barouche  of  Loftus  Vaughan  arrived  with  the  rest,  only 
fashionably  behind  time,  bringing  the  Gustos  himself,  his  truly  beautiful 
daughter,  but,  above  all — as  before  all  perhaps  should  have  been  men- 
tioned— the  hero  of  the  night. 

"  WELCOME  TO  SMYTHJE  !" 

How  his  proud  heart  swelled  in  triumph  under  the  magnificent  ruffles 
of  his  shirt,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  flattering  phrase  1  How  conquer 
ing  his  smile,  as  he  turned  towards  Kate  Vaughan,  to  note  the  effect 
which  the  transparency  could  not  fail  to  produce  ! 

"  Welcome  to  Smythje !"  pealed  from  a  hundred  pair  of  lips  as  the 
carriage  drove  up  to  the  door ;  and  then  a  loud  cheer  followed  the  words 
of  greeting ;  and  then  the  distinguished  stranger  was  ushered  into  the 
ball-room  ;  and,  after  remaining  for  a  few  moments  in  a  conspicuous  posi 
tion — the  cynosure  of  at  least  two  hundred  pair  of  eyes — the  great  man 
set  the  example  by  pairing  off  with  a  partner. 

The  band  struck  up,  and  the  dancing  began. 

It  need  scarce  be  said  who  was  Smythje's  first  partner.  Kate  Vaughan, 
of  course.  The  Custos  had  taken  care  of  that. 

Smythje  looked  superb.  Thorns  had  been  at  him  all  the  afternoon 
His  hay-coloured  hair  was  in  full  curl — his  whiskers  in  amplest  bush — his 
moustache  crimped  spirally  at  the  points  ;  and  his  cheek  pinked  with  jut-:t 
the  slightest  tinting  of  vermilion. 

His  dress  was  that  of  a  ball-room '  elegant'  of  the  first  water.  A  claret- 
coloured  coat,  lined  through  and  through  with  white  satin  ;  a  vest  of  the 
Bame  material  as  the  lining  of  the  coat,  but  richly  embroidered  with  cord 
of  gold;  breeches  also  of  white  satin;  spotless  stockings  of  spun  silk  : 
and  patent  pumps  with  gold  buckles.  A  white  cravat  around  his  neck, 
and  a  black  crush-nat  under  his  arm,  completed  his  costume  du  bal-  ull 
perfectly 'en  regie' according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time. 

Remembering  what  has  already  been  insinuated  about  Mr.  Smythje'a 
legs,  this  full  dress  might  be  supposed  to  have  submitted  his  weak  point* 
V)  exposure.  Not  so,  however  ;  Thorns  had  taken  care  to  guard  against 


T«E  SMYTH JE  BALL. 

that ;  for  both  the  small  clothes  and  silk  stockings  were  provided  with 
padding  underneath  ;  and  Smythje  sported  a  pair  of  thighs,  with  calves 
to  match,  as  large  and  rotund  as  the  best-limbed  man  in  the  room. 

This  tendency  towards  elephantiasis  might  have  interfered  with  his 
dancing,  had  he  been  an  ordinary  practitioner  of  the  Terpsichorean  ait. 
But  he  was  not.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  so  perfectly  up  in  every  species 
of  ball-room  saltation,  that  he  could,  with  grace,  have  gone  through  a 
waltz  in  the  snow-boots  of  a  Samoeid. 

|     It  would  have  been  a  disgrace  indeed  not  to  have  danced  well  with 
i-siich  a  partner  ;  for  the  young  Creole,  like  all  of  her  country  and  race, 
was  a  skilled  and  graceful  dancer.     In  her  simple  dress  of  white  silk — the 
outlines  of  her  fine  figure  unbroken  by  the  ungainly  angles  of  corset  or 
crinoline — she  appeared  the  personification  of  that  divine  idea — the  poetry 
of  motion — by  the   Greeks  termed  Terpsichore — or  rather  might  she 
have  been  likened  to  the  goddess  whom  Terpsichore  had  taught  to  dance. 
When  the  w,altz  came  on  in  which  Kate  Vaughan  had  again  the  dis- 
tinction to  stand  up  with    Smythje— and  a  splendid  couple  they  ap- 
peared—  0    . 

"  So  stately  hit  form,  and  BO  lorely  her  face, 
That  never  a  hall  suoh  a  gal  liar  d  did  graoe." 

There  may  have  been  finer  forms  on  the  floor  than  that  of  Mr.  Smythje 
Acknowledged.  But  a  lovelier  face  than  his  partner's  there  was  not  in 
the  room. 

And  yet  there  were  fair  faces,  too.  Ay,  many  ;  and  among  the  fairest 
that  of  Judith  Jessuron. 

Arrived  a  little  late,  the  Jewess  had  not  appeared  in  the  first  set.  Ip 
the  waltz  she  was  conspicuous  :  not  from  her  dress  of  rich  purple  velvet 
— not  from  the  splendid  tiara  of  pearls  that  glistened  against  the  back- 
ground of  her  glossy,  raven  hair — not  from  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her 
teeth,  that  gleamed  between  lips  like  curved  and  parted  rose  leaves — not 
from  the  damask  tinting  of  her  cheeks  ;  nor  the  liquid  light  that  flashed 
incessantly  from  the  black,  Israelitish  eyes — not  from  any  of  these  was 
she  conspicuous  ;  but  from  all  combined  into  one,  and  composing  a  grand 
and  imperious  picture. 

It  was  a  picture  upon  which  more  than  one  eye  gazed  with  admiration  ; 
and  more  than  one  continued  to  gaze. 

SThe  partner  of  Judith  was  not  unworthy  to  embrace  such  beauty. 
She  was  in  the  arms  of  a  young  man  a  stranger  to  the  most  in  the  room  ; 
but  the  glances  bestowed  upon  him  by  bright  eyes — some  interrogative, 
some  furtive,  some  openly  admiring — promised  him  an  easy  introduction 
to  any  one  he  might  fancy  to  know. 

Not  that  this  stranger  appeared  to  be  conceitedly  conscious  of  the 
graces  which  nature  had  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  him ;  or  even  sensi- 
ble of  the  good  fortune  that  had  given  him  such  a  partner. 

On  the  contrary,  he  was  dancing  with  despondency  in  his  look  and  a 
cloud  upon  his  brow,  that  even  the  exciting  whirl  of  the  waltz  was 
failing  to  dissipate. 

The  partner  of  Judith  Jessuron  was  Herbert  Vaughan. 


LOST   AND   WON.  189 

A  l«Jl-room  may  be  likened  to  a  kaleidoscope — the  personages  are  iho 
same,  their  relative  positions  constantly  changing.  Design  it  or  not, 
either  during  the  dance  or  the  interregnum — one  time  or  another — you 
will  find  yourself  face  to  face,  or  side  by  side,  with  every  individual  in 
the  room. 

So  in  the  ball-room  of  Montego  Bay  came  face  to  face  two  sets  of  walt- 
zes—Smythje  and  Kate,  Herbert  and  Judith. 

The  situation  arose,  as  they  were  resting  from  the  dizzy  whirl  of  a 
waltz. 

Smythje,  flattening  the  opera-hat  over  his  bosom,  bent  profoundly  to- 
wards the  floor — Judith,  with  an  imperious  sweep,  returned  the  salutation  \ 
—Herbert  bowed  to  his  cousin,  with  a  half-doubting,  half-appealing 
glance ;  but  the  nod  received  in  return  was  so  slight,  so  distant,  that 
even  the  keen-eyed  Gustos,  closely  watching  every  movement  of  the 
quartette,  failed  to  perceive  it ! 

Poor  Kate !  She  knew  that  the  paternal  eye,  severely  set,  was  upon 
her.  She  remembered  that  painful  promise. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  the  parties.  Scarce  a  moment  stood  they 
together.  Herbert,  stung  by  Kate's  salutation — unexpectedly  cold,  almost 
insultingly  distant — warped  his  arm  around  the  waist  of  his  willing 
partner,  and  spun  off"  through  the  unobservant  crowd. 

Though  often  again  upon  that  same  night  Smythje  and  Kate,  Herbert 
and  the  Jewess  were  respectively  partners — so  often  as  to  lead  to  gene- 
ral observation — never  again  did  'the  four  stand  vis-a-vis  or  side  by  side. 
Whenever  chance  threatened  to  bring  them  together,  design,  or  some- 
thing like  it,  stepped  in  to  thwart  the  approximation  1 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

LOST  AND  WON. 

ALMOST  all  the  night  did  Herbert  dance  with  the  Jewess — no  longer  with 
despondency  in  his  look,  but  with  the  semblance  of  a  gay  arid  reckless 
joy.  Never  had  Judith  received  from,  the  young  Englishman  such  ardent 
attention ;  and  for  the  first  time  since  their  introduction  to  each  other, 
did  she  fpel  conscious  of  something  like  a  correspondence  to  her  own 
fierce  love.  For  the  moment  her  proud,  cruel  heart  became  dissolved  to 
a  true  feminine  tenderness  ;  and  in  the  spiral  undulations  of  the  waltz,  as 
•he  coiled  round  the  robust  form  of  her  partner,  her  cheek  rested  upon 
his  shoulder,  as  if  laid  there  to  expire  in  the  agony  of  an  exquisite  bliss, 

She  stayed  not  to  question  the  cause  of  Herbert's  devotedness.  Her 
own  heart,  blinded  by  love,  and  yearning  for  reciprocity,  threw  open  its 
portals  to  receive  the  passion  without  challenge  or  scrutiny — without 
knowing  whether  it  was  real,  or  only  apparent. 

A  wild  anguish  would  she  have  experienced  at  that  moment,  could  she 
have  divined  what  was  passing  in  Herbert's  bosom.  Little  did  she  sui- 
pect  that  bis  devotednese  to  her  was  only  a  demonstration  intended  to 


190  LOST  AND  WOIT. 

act  upon  another.  Little  dreamt  she  that  real  love  for  another  was  the 
cause  and  origin  of  that  counterfeit  that  was  deceiving  herself.  Happy 
for  her  heart's  peace  she  knew  not  this. 

Herbert  alone  knew  this.     As  the  kaleidoscope  evolved  the  dazzling 

dancers  one  after  another,  often  did  the  face  of  Kate  Vaughan  flit  before 

the  eyes  of  her  cousin,  and  his  before  her  eyes.     On  such  occasions,  the 

glance  hastily  exchanged  was  one  of  defiant  indifference  ;  for  both  were 

playing  at  piques  !     The  cold  salutation  had  given  him  the  cue,  ignorant 

|d,s  he  was  of  its  cause.     She  had  begun  the  game  only  little  later —  on  ob- 

*  serving  the  attitude  of  extreme  contentment  which  Herbert  had  assumed 

,  towards  his  companion.     She  knew  not  that  it  was  studied.     Her  skill  in 

coquetry,  although   sufficient  for  the   pretence  of  indifference,  was  not 

deep  enough  to  discern  it  in  him  ;  and  both  were  now  behaving,  as  if 

each  believed  the  love  of  the  other  beyond  all  hope.  A 

Before  abandoning  the  ball-room,  this  belief — erroneous  as  it  might  be 
on  both  sides — received  further  confirmation.  A  circumstance  arose  that 
strengthened  it  to  a  full  and  perfect  conviction. 

From  the  gossip  of  a  crowded  ball-room  many  a  secret  may  be  learnt. 
In  those  late  hours,  when  the  supper  champagne  has  untied  the  tongue, 
and  dancers  begin  to  fancy  each  other  deaf,  he  who  silently  threads  his 
way,  or  stands  stiff  among  the  crowd,  may  catch  many  a  sentence  not  in- 
tended to  be  over-heard,  and  often  least  of  all  by  himself.  Many  an  in- 
voluntary eaves-dropper  has  fallen  into  this  catastrophe.  At  least  two  in- 
stances occurred  at  the  Smythje  ball ;  and  to  the  two  individuals  in 
whom,  perhaps,  we  are  mast  interested — Herbert  and  Kate  Vaguhan. 

Herbert  was  for  a  moment  alone.  Judith,  not  that  she  had  tired  of 
her  partner,  but  perhaps  only  to  save  appearances,  was  dancing  with 
another.  It  was  not  Smythje,  whom  all  the  evening  she  had  studiously 
avoided.  She  remembered  the  incident  on  the  Jumbe  rock  ;  and  feared 
that  dancing  with  him  might  conduct  to  a  similar  disposition  of  the  part- 
ners, as  that  which  had  occurred  on  the  day  of  the  eclipse. 

It  was  not  flirtation  in  any  way.  On  that  night  Judith  had  no  need. 
Confident  in  her  success  with  Herbert,  she  was  contented ;  and  cared 
not  to  do  anything  that  might  hazard  a  rupture  of  the  blissful  chain  she 
believed  she  had  woven  around  him. 

Herbert  was  standing  alone  in  the  crowd.  Two  young  planters  were 
near  him  engaged  in  conversation.  They  had  mixed  their  liquor  and 
therefore  talked  loud. 

Herbert  could   not  help  hearing  what  they  talked   of;  and,  having 

'  h»:ard  could  not  help  heeding  it.     He  was  interested  in   the   subject 

though  not  from  its  singularity  ;  for  it  was  the  common  topic  of  the  ball» 

room,  and  had  been  throughout  the  night.     The   theme  was  Smythjo ; 

and  coupled  with  this  name  was  that  of  Kate  Vaughan. 

On  hearing  these  names.  Herbert  was  no  longer  an  involuntary  lis- 
tener. He  strained  his  ears  to  catch  every  word.  He  had  not  heard  the 
beginning  of  the  dialogue,  but  the  introduction  was  easily  inferred. 

"  When  is  it  to  come  off?"  inquired  the  least  kr  owing  of  the  planters, 
from  him  who  was  imparting  the  information. 
"  No  time  fixed  yet — at  least,  none  has  been  naentipned.    Soon,  I  sap 


LOST   AND    WON.  191 

u  There'll  be  a  grand  spread  upon  the  occasion — breakfast,  dinner,  sup 
per,  and  ball,  no  doubt  ?" 

"  Sure  to  be  all  that.  The  Gustos  is  not  the  man  to  let  the  ceremony 
pass  without  all  the  '  eclat.'  " 

"  Honeymoon  tour  afterwards  ?" 

"  Of  course.  He  takes  her  to  London.  I  believe  they  are  to  reside 
there.  Mr.  Smythje  don't  much  relish  our  colonial  life  :  he  misses  the 
opera.  A  pity  :  since  it'll  make  one  beautiful  woman  less  in  the  island  I* 

"  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  Loff  Taughan  has  sold  his  nigge* 
well." 

"  Oh,  for  shame !  to  use  such  a  word  when  speaking  of  the  beautiful—* 
the  accomplished  Kate  !  Come,  Thorndyke  !  I'm  shocked  at  you." 

Thorndyke,  by  the  expression,  had  hazarded  the  punching  of  his  head 
— not  by  his  companion,  but  by  a  stranger  who  stood  near. 

Herbert  curbed  his  indignation.  Kate  cared  not  for  him!  Perhapa 
she  would  not  have  accepted  him  even  as  her  champion? 

Almost  at  that  same  moment  she,  too,  was  listening  to  a  dialogue  pain- 
fully analagous.  Smythje  could  not  dance  all  the  night  with  her.  Too 
many  claimed  the  honour  of  his  partnership  ;  and  for  a  set  or  two  she 
had  been  forsaken  by  him — left  under  the  guardianship  of  the  watchful 
Gustos. 

"  Who  can  he  be  ?"  inquired  one  of  two  gentle  gossips  within  ear-shot 
of  Kate. 

"  A  young  Englishman,  I  have  heard  :  a  relative  of  the  Vaughans  of 
Mount  Welcome  ;  though,  for  some  reason,  not  acknowledged  by  the 
Gustos." 

"  That  bold  girl  appears  willing  enough  to  acknowledge  him.  Who  is 
she  ?" 

"  A  Miss  Jessuron.  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  old  Jew  penn-keeper, 
who  used  to  deal  largely  in  blacks." 

"  Faugh  !  she  is  behaving  as  if  she  belonged  to  a " 

The  last  word  was  whispered,  and  Kate  did  not  hear  it. 

"  True  enough  1"  asserted  the  other  ;  "  but,  as  they  are  engaged,  that,  I 
suppose,  is  nobody's  business  but  their  own.  He's  a  stranger  in  the 
island  ;  and  don't  know  much  about  certain  people's  position  I  suppose. 
A  pity  !  He  seems  a  nice  sort  of  young  fellow  ;  but  as  he  makes  his  bed 
BO  let  him  lie.  Ha  !  ha  !  If  report  speaks  true  of  Miss  Judith  JessuroB, 
he'll  find  no  bed  of  roses  there.  Ha !  ha!  ha!" 

What  causes  merriment  tc  one  may  make  another  miserable.  Thai 
was  true  of  the  words  last  spoken.  From  the  speaker  and  her  companion 
they  elicited  a  laugh — from  Kate  Vaughan  they  drew  a  sigh,  deep  and 
•ad. 

She  left  the  ball  with  a  Bleeding  heart. 

"  Lost !  lost  for  ever  !"  murmured  she,  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  a 
sleepless  pillow. 

"  Won!"  triumphantly  exclaimed  Judith  Jessuron, flinging  her  majestio 
form  on  a  couch.  "  Herbert  Vaughan  is  mine  I" 

"  Lost !  lost  for  ever  !"  soliloquised  Horbert,  as  he  closed  the  door  of 
his  solitary  sleeping-room. 

*  Won  t"  cried  the  victorious  Smythje,  entering  his  elegant 


192  AFTER  THE  BALL. 

ber,  and,  in  the  fervour  of  his  enthusiasm,  dropping  his  metropolitan 
patois.    "  Kate  Vaughan  is  mine  1" 


CHAPTER    LX. 

AFTER     THE     BALL. 

TH*  time  was  rapidly  drawing  nigh  when  the  ambitious  scheme  of  the| 
Gustos  Vaughan  was  either  to  be  crowned  with  success,  or  end  in  failure.* 

Of  the  latter  he  had  little  apprehension.  Though  Smythje,  having  lost 
the  opportunity  of  the  eclipse,  had  not  yet  declared  himself,  Mr.  Vaughan 
knew  it  was  his  intention  to  do  so  on  an  early  occasion.  Indeed,  the 
declaration  was  only  postponed  by  the  advice  of  the  Gustos  himself, 
whose  counsel  had  been  sought  by  his  intended  son-in-law. 

Not  that  Mr.  Vaughan  had  any  fear  of  Kate  giving  a  negative  answer. 
The  stern  father  knew  that  he  had  his  daughter  too  well  in  hand  for 
that.  His  wish  would  be  her  will — on  that  point  was  he  determined ; 
and  it  was  less  the  fear  of  a  refusal  than  some  other  circumstances  that 
had  hindered  him  from  bringing  the  matter  to  a  crisis. 

As  for  Smythje,  he  never  dreamt  of  a  rejection.  Kate's  behaviour  at 
the  ball  had  confirmed  him  in  the-belief  that  she  was  entirely  his  own  , 
and  that  without  him  her  future  existence  would  be  one  of  misery.  Her 
pale  cheek,  and  sad,  thoughtful  air,  as  she  appeared  next  morning  at  the 
breakfast-table,  told  him  too  plainly  that  she  would  never  be  happj 
under  any  other  name  than  that  of  Mrs.  Smythje. 

Again,  upon  that  morning,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  proposal  should 
be  made.  It  would  be  an  appropriate  finale,  to  the  '  fete'  of  the  preced- 
ing night. 

His  brow  still  glowing  with  the  laurels  that  had  bedecked  it,  like  a 
second  Antony  he  would  approach  his  Cleopatra,  triumphantly  ir- 
resistible. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Smythje  drew  the  Gustos  into  a  corner,  and  once 
more  expressed  his  solicitude  to  become  his  son-in-law. 

Whether,  because  Kate's  behaviour  at  the  ball  had  also  impressed  Mr. 
Vaughan  with  the  appropriateness  of  the  time,  or  for  some  other  reason, 
Bcnythje  found  him  agreeable.     Only  first,  the  father  desired  to  have  an 
interview  with  his  daughter,  in  order  to  prepare  her  for  the  distinguished  j 
honour  of  which  she  was  so  soon  to  be  the  recipient. 

Kate  had  gone  out  into  the  kiosk.  There  Mr.  Vaughan  sought  her,  to 
bring  about  the  proposed  preliminary  interview.  Smythje  also  stepped 
into  the  garden ;  but,  instead  of  going  near  the  summer-house,  he  saun- 
tered along  the  walks  at  a  distance,  occasionally  plucking  a  flower,  or 
chasing  the  butterflies,  bright  and  gay  as  hig  own  the  ugh ts. 

Kate's  countenance  still  preserved  the  air  of  ntelancholy  that  had 
clouded  it  all  the  morning  ;  and  the  approach  of  the  Gustos  did  nothing 
to  dissipate  it.  On  the  contrary,  its  shadows  became  deeper,  as  if  the 
ponderous  presence  of  her  father,  coming  between  her  and  the  sun,  was 
about  to  shut  out  the  little  light  left  shining  in  her  heart 

From  what  she  had  heard  that  morning,  she  presumed  that  the  time  had 


AFTER   THE   BALL,  193 

arrived  when  she  must  either  submit  to  the  wishes  of  her  father,  and  re- 
sign herself  to  an  unhappy  fate  ;  or,  by  the  disobedience,  brave  his  inger, 
and  perhaps — she  knew  not  what. 

She  only  knew  that  she  did  not  like  Mr.  Smythje,  and  never  could.  She 
did  not  hate  the  man — she  did  not  detest  him.  Her  feeling  towards  him 
was  that  of  indifference,  slightly  tinctured  with  contempt  Harmless  she 
deemed  him  ;  and,  no  doubt,  a  harmless  husband  he  would  make  ;  but  that 
was  not  the  sort  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  young  Creole.  Far  different  wag 
the  hero  of  her  heart. 

Neither  the  lover,  nor  his  prospective  father-in-law,  could  have  chosen 
a  time  more  opportune  for  making  their  approaches.  Although  at  that 
timo  Kate  Vaughan  felt  towards  Smythje  more  indifference — pernapg 
more  contempt— than  she  had  ever  done,  at  that  very  hour  was  she  wav- 
ering in  the  intention,  hitherto  cherished,  of  refusing  him. 

Though  both  lover  and  father  had  erroneously  interpreted  her  air  of 
dejection,  it  was  nevertheless  in  their  favour.  It  was  not  love  for 
Smythje  under  which  she  was  suffering ;  but  despair  of  this  passion  for 
another ;  and  in  that  despair  lay  the  hope — the  only  hope — of  the  lord  of 
Montagu  Castle. 

It  was  a  despair  not  unmingled  with  pique — with  anger  ;  that  proud 
rage,  which,  painfully  wringing  the  heart,  prompts  it  to  desperate  re- 
solves :  even  to  the  utter  annihilation  of  all  future  hope — as  if  happiness 
could  be  obtained  by  destroying  the  happiness  of  the  one  only  being 
who  could  give  it  I 

Yes,  the  heart  of  Kate  Vaughan  had  reached,  or  almost  reached,  that 
fearful  phase  of  our  moral  nature,  when  love,  convinced  of  its  unrequital, 
seeks  solace  in  revenge  I 

The  Smythje  ball,  which  had  crowned  the  hopes  of  him  to  whom  the 
compliment  was  given,  had  been  fatal  to  those  of  Kate  Vaughan. 

Certain  it  was  that  she  had  conceived  hopes  that  pointed  to  Herbert 
Vaughan.  Love  could  scarce  have  been  kindled  without  them.  They 
were  founded  upon  those  fond  words  spoken  at  their  first  parting. 
Slight  as  was  the  foundation,  up  to  that  night  bad  they  endured :  for  she 
had  treasured  and  cherished  them  in  spite  of  absence,  and  calumny,  and 
false  report 

True,  as  time  passed  they  had  waxed  fainter,  with  longer  intervals  of 
doubt,  until  the  day  in  which  had  occurred  the  unexpected  incident  of 
meeting  with  Herbert  on  the  Jumbe  Rook. 

There — notwithstanding  the  many  circumstances  that  had  arisen — cal- 
culated, as  one  would  suppose,  to  produce  an  opposite  effect — the  hopes 
of  the  young  Creole,  instead  of  becoming  extinguished,  had  rather  gained 
strength.  Was  it  an  instinct  taught  her  that  Herbert's  tongue  was  less 
truthful  than  his  eyes  ?  Perhaps  it  was  an  intuition  founded  upon  her 
own  feelings — for  was  not  she  also  practising  a  similar  deception  ?  Cer- 
tain it  is,  that  upon  that  occasion  she  had  placed  less  faith  in  her  cousin'* 
words  than  his  looks:  for  in  that  encounter  of  the  eyes,alreaiy  chronicled 
she  had  read  something  to  cause  a  revival  of  her  hopes. 

They  had  lived  with  more  or  lees  intermission  until  that  fatal  night— 
the  night  of  the  ^mythje  fcajl— wtion  they  were  doomed  to  utter 


AFTER   THE   BALL. 

All  night  long  he  had  come  but  once  near  her — only  that  once  by  th« 
mere  chance  of  changing  positions.  And  then  that  bow — that  single 
salutation,  friendly  as  it  might  have  been  deemed,  she  could  only  remem- 
ber as  being  cold,  almost  cynical  1 

She  did  not  think  how  cold  and  distant  had  been  her  own — at  least, 

how  much  BO  it  must  have  appeared  to  him.     Though  her  eyes  had  often 

ought  him  in  the  crowd,  and  often  found  him,  she  did  not  know  that  hia 

tvere  equally  following  her,  and  equally  as  often  fixed  upon  her.     Both 

.vere  ignorant  of  this  mutual  espionage,  for  each  had  studiously  declined 

csponding  the  glance  of  the  other. 

r  Never  more  that  night  had  he  come  near — never  again  had  he  shown  a 
desire  or  made  an  attempt  to  address  her ;  though  opportunities  there 
were — many  of  them — when  no  paternal  eye  was  upon  her  to  prevent  an 
interview. 

All  nightlong  had  his  attentions  been  occupied  by  another — apparently 
engrossed — and  that  other  a  bold,  beautiful  woman — just  such  a  one  as 
Herbert  might  love. 

"  He  loves  her !  I  am  sure  he  loves  her !"  was  the  reflection  that  passed 
often  and  painfully  through  the  thoughts  of  Kate  Vaughan,  as  she  swept 
her  eye  across  that  crowded  ball-room. 

And  then  came  the  climax — that  half-whispered  gossip  that  reached  her 
ear,  falling  upon  it  like  a  knell  of  death.  They  were  to  be  married  :  they 
were  already  betrothed ! 

It  needed  no  more.  In  that  moment  the  hopes  of  the  "young  Creole 
were  crushed — so  cruelly,  so  completely,  that,  in  the  dark  future  before 
her,  no  gleam  of  light,  not  even  a  ray,  arose  to  resucitato  them. 

No  wonder  that  the  morning  sun  shone  upon  a  pale  cheek — no  wonder 
that  an  air  of  deep  dejection  sate  upon  the  countenance  of  Kate  Vaug- 
han. 

In  this  melancholy  mood  did  the  father  find  his  daughter,  on  entering 
the  kiosk. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  it — not  even  with  the  counterfeit  of  a 
smile.  Rather  with  a  frown  did  she  receive  him  ;  and  in  her  eyes  might 
have  been  detected  the  slightest  scintillation  of  anger,  whether  or  not  he 
was  its  object. 

It  is  possible  that  just  then  the  thought  was  passing  through  her  mind 
that  but  for  him,  her  destiny  might  have  been  different ;  but  for  him,  Her 
bert  Vaughan,  and  not  Montagu  Smythje,  might  have  been  on  the  eve  ol 
offering  for  her  hand,  which  would  then  have  gone  wipi  her  heart.  Now, 
in  the  contingency  of  her  consenting  to  the  proposal  she  expected,  would 
they  be  separated,  and  for  ever « 

Never  more  was  she  to  experience  that  supreme  happiness — the 
Kupremest  known  upon  earth — and,  perhaps,  equalling  the  joys  of  heaveL. 
itself;  nevermore  could  she  indulge  in  that  sweet,  delicious  dream — a 
virgin's  love — with  the  hope  of  its  being  returned.  Her  love  might  re- 
main like  a  fiower  that  had  lost  its  perfume,  only  to  shed  it  on  the  soli- 
tary air  ;  nc  more  a  sweet  passion,  but  a  barren,  bitter  thought,  without 
hope  to  cheer  it  tillthe  end  of  time. 

Ah,  Gustos  Vaughan  1  proud,  foolish  parent!  Could  you  have  known 
&ow  von  were  aiding  to  destroy  &$  hap  111033  of  youjr  child—how  you 


PAVING  THE  WAY.  195 

were  contributing  to  crusn  that  young  heart — you  would  have  approaches! 
less  cheerfully  to  complete  the  ceremony  of  its  sacrifice 


CHAPTER  LXL 

PAVING     THB     WAY. 

*CAIHERINE  !M  gravely  began  the  father  on  stepping  inside  the  kiosk 
;    "Father!" 

The  parental  appellative  was  pronounced  in  a  low  murmur,  the  speaker- 
Hot  uplifting  her  eyes  from  the  object  upon  which  she  had  been  gazing. 

The  object  was  a  small  silken  purse  that  lay  upon  the  table.  Stringless 
it  was,  though  the  broken  ends  of  a  blue  ribbcto  attached  to  it  showed 
that  it  had  not  always  been  so. 

Loftus  Vaughan  knew  not  the  history  of  that  purse,  neither  why  it  lay 
there — what  had  stripped  it  of  its  string,  or  why  his  daughter  was  B<, 
sadly  gazing  upon  it.  All  these  circumstances,  however,  he  noticed  on 
entering  the  kiosk  ;  and,  but  for  the  last,  he  might  neither  have  thought 
of  nor  attempted  to  account  for  them." 

"  Ah,  your  purse  1"  said  he,  taking  it  up  and  examining  it  more  minute- 
ly. "  Some  one  has  torn  the  string  from  it — a  pity  1  who  can  have  done 
it?" 

Little  did  he  care  for  the  answer.  As  little  did  he  suspect  that  the  rape 
of  that  bit  of  ribbon  had  aught  to  do  with  his  daughter's  dejection, 
which  he  had  observed  throughout  all  the  morning.  The  surprise  he 
had  expressed,  and  the  question  put,  were  only  intended  to  initiate  the 
more  serious  conversation  he  was  about  to  introduce. 

"  Oh,  papa !  it  don't  signify,"  said  Kate,  avoiding  a  direct  answer  ;  "  'tis 
but  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon.  I  can  easily  replace  it  by  another  that  will 
serve  as  well." 

Ah,  Kate  !  you  may  easily  replace  the  ribbon  upon  the  purse,  but  not 
so  easily  that  peace  of  mind  which  parted  from  your  bosom  at  the  same 
time.  When  that  string  was  torn,  torn,  too,  were  the  strings  of  your 
heart. 

Some  such  reflection  must  have  passed  through  her  mind  as  she  made 
the  reply  ;  for  the  shadow  stole  deeper  over  her  countenance. 

Mr.  Vaughan  pursued  the  subject  of  the  purse  no  further  ;  but  looking 
tnrough  the  lattice-work  and  perceiving  Smythje  in  chase  of  the  butter- 
flies, endeavoured  to  draw  his  daughter's  attention  to  that  sportive  gen 
tleman. 

This  was  the  more  easily  done ;  as  Mr.  Smythje  was  at  the  re  omen 
humming  a  tone,  and  could  be  heard  as  well  as  seen. 

•'  I'd  be  a  butterfly, 
•wig  Smythje—* 


196  PAVING  THE   WAT. 

And  then,  as  if  to  contradict  tbi.s  pleasant  prospectus  of  insect  life,  lie 
was  at  that  instant  s?2n  seizing  a  splendid  Vanessa,  and  "  scrunching"  the 
frail  creature  between  his  kid-gloved  fingers! 

"  Isn't  he  a  superb  fellow  ?"  said  Mr.  Vaughan,  first  gazing  enthusiast*.- 
call}  «*n  Smythje.  and  then  fixing  his  eyes  upon  his  daughter,  to  note  the 
character  of  the  reply. 

"  I  suppose  he  must  be — papa — since  everybody  says  BO." 

There  was  no  enthusiasm  in  Kate's  answer — nothing  to  encourage  tht 
Oiistos. 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  Kate  ?** 

This  was  coming  more  directly  to  the  point ;  but  the  response  prove*  * 
equally  evasive. 

"  You  think  so,  papa — and  that  should  do  for  both  of  us." 

The  melodious  voice  of  Sraythie  again  interrupted  the  conversation, 
ejul  turned  it  into  a  new  channel. 

amythje  singing — 

"  I'd  never  languish  for  wealth  mot  for  power, 
I'd  never  sign  to  see  slaves  at  my  feet  I" 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Smythje  I"  exclaimed  the  Gustos,  in  a  kind  of  soliloquy, 
though  meant  for  the  ear  of  Kate  ;  "  you  have  no  need  to  sigh  for  them 
— you  have  them  ;  five  hundred  in  all.  And  beauties,  too  !  Wealth  and 
power,  indeed  I  You  needn't  languish  for  either  one  or  the  other.  The 
estate  of  Montagu  Castle  provides  you  with  both,  my  boy  1" 

Smythje  still  chanted  : 

"  Those  whojihave  wealth  may  be  watchful  and  wary, 
Power,  alaa  1  nought  but  misery  brings." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Kate  ?     What  fine  sentiments  he  utters  I" 

"  Very  fine,  and  apropos  to  the  occasion,"  replied  Kate,  sarcastically 
*  They  are  not  his,  however ;  but,  no  doubt,  he  feels  them  ;  and  that'* 
just  as  good." 

"  A  splendid  property  r*  continued  Mr.  Vaughan,  returning  to  what  in- 
terested him  more  than  the  sentiments  of  the  song,  and  not  heeding  the 
sarcasm  conveyed  in  the  speech  of  his  daughter ;  "  a  splendid  property  I 
toll  you ;  and  with  mine  joined  on  to  it  will  make  the  grandest  establish- 
ment in  the  island.  The  island,  did  I  say  ?  In  the  West  Indies — ay,  in 
the  Western  World  !  Do  you  hear  that,  my  daughter  ?" 

"  I  do,  papa,"  replied  the  young  Creole.  "  But  you  speak  aa  if  the  two 
estates  were  to  be  joined  together?  Does  Mr.  Smythje  intend  to  pur- 
chase Mount  Welcome  ?  or  you  Montagu  Castle  ?" 

These  questions  were  asked  with  an  air  of  simplicity  evidently  assum- 
ed. In  truth,  the  interrogator  knew  well  enough  to  what  the  conversa- 
tion was  tending  ;  and,  impatient  with  the  ambiguity,  that  was  every  mo- 
ment growing  more  painful  to  her,  desired  to  bring  it  to  its  crisis. 

Mr.  Vaughan  was  equally  desirous  of  arriving  at  the  same  result,  aa 
testified  in  his  reply. 

"  Ah,  Kate !  you  little  rogue  ?"  said  he,  looking  gratified  at  the  opening 
thus  made  for  him.  "  Egad!  you've  just  hit  the  nail  on  thr  head.  You've 
guessed  right,  only  that  we,  WQ  bvtU  V>  b^buyers,  Mr.  Suaythje  is  to 


PAVING   THE    WAI.  li 

purchase  Mount  Welcome  ;  and  what  do  you  suppose  he  8  to  pay  for  it? 
Guess  that !" 

"  Indeed,  father,  I  cannot !  How  should  I  know  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
Only  this  I  know,  that  I  am  sorry  you  should  think  of  our  leaving  Mount 
Welcome.  Though  I  do  not  expect  now  ever  to  be  happy  here,  I  think 
I  should  not  be  happier  anywhere  else." 

Mr.  Yaughan  was  too  much  wound-up  in  the  thread  of  hie  own  thought* 
to  notice  the  emphasis  on  the  word  "  now,"  or  the  double  meaning  of  hit 
?  daughter's  words. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  I"  laughed  he  ;  "  Mr.  Smythje's  purchase  won't  dispossess 
as  of  Mount  Welcome.  Don't  be  afraid  of  that,  little  Katey.  But,  come, 
try  and  guess  the  price  he  is  to  pay  ?" 

"  Father,  I  need  not  try.  I  am  sure  I  could  not  guess  it — not  within 
thousands  of  pounds." 

"  Not  a  thousand  pounds !  no,  not  one  pound,  unless  hie  great  big 
heart  weighs  that  much,  and  his  generous  hand  thrown  into  the  scale — 
for  that,  Catherine,  that  is  the  price  he  is  to  pay." 

Mr.  Vaughan  wound  up  this  speech  with  a  significant  glance,  and  a 
triumphant  gesture,  expressive  of  astonishment  at  his  own  eloquence. 

He  looked  for  a  response — one  that  would  reciprocate  his  smiles  and 
the  joyful  intelligence  he  fancied  himself  to  have  communicated. 

He  looked  in  vain.  Notwithstanding  the  perspicuity  of  hia  explanation. 
Kate  obstinately  refused  to  comprehend  it. 

Her  reply,  was  provokingly  a  "  shirking  of  the  question." 

"  His  heart  and  his  hand,  you  say  ?  Neither  seem  very  heavy.  But  it 
it  not  very  little  for  an  estate  where  there  are  many  hands,  and  many 
hearts,  too  ?  To  whom  does  he  intend  to  give  them  ?  You  have  not  lot 
me  know  that,  papa  ?" 

"  I  shall  let  you  know  now,"  replied  the  father,  his  voice  changing  to  a 
more  serious  tone,  as  if  a  little  nettled  by  Kate's  evident  design  to  mis- 
understand him.  "  I  shall  let  you  know  by  telling  you  what  I  intend  to 
give  him  for  Montagu  Castle.  I  told  you  we  were  both  to  be  buyers  in 
this  transaction.  It  is  a  fair  exchange,  Kate,  hand  for  hand,  and  heart  for 
heart.  Mr.  Smythje  freely  gives  his,  and  I  give  yours" 

"  Mine  1" 

"  Ay,  yours.  Surely,  Kate,  I  have  not  made  a  mistake  ?  Surely  yoi 
itie  agreeable  to  the  exchange  ?" 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  girl,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  womanly  gravity, 
4  there  can  be  no  exchange  of  hearts  between  Mr.  Smythje  and  myself. 
He  may  have  given  his  to  me.  I  l^now  not  nor  care.  But  I  will  not  de- 
ceive you,  father.  My  heart  he  can  never  have:  it  is  not  hi  my  power  to 
give  it  to  him." 

"  Nonsense !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Vaughan,  startled  by  this  unexpected 
declaration  ;  "  you  are  deceiving  yourself,  my  child,  when  you  talk  thu». 
I  do  not  see  how  you  can  fail  to  like  Mr.  Smythje — so  generous,  so  accom- 
plished, so  handsome  as  he  is!  Come,  you  are  only  jesting,  Kate?  You 
do  like  him  ;  you  do  not  hate  him  ?" 

"  No,  no  1  I  do  not  hate  him !  Why  should  I  ?  Mr.  Smyfhje  lias  don« 
nothing  to  offend  me.  I  believe  he  is  very  honourable." 

"  Why,  that  is  almost  saying  that  you  like  tim  ?"  rejoined  tins  fathe* 
in  a  tone  of  returning  gratification. 


198 

"  Liking  is  not  love,"  murmured  Kate,  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

"  It  may  turn  to  it,"  said  the  Gustos  encouragingly.  "  It  often  dc**»-~ 
especially  when  two  people  become  man  and  wife.  Besides,  it's  nol 
always  best  for  young  married  folks  to  be  too  fond  of  each  other  at  first 
As  my  old  spelling-book  used  to  say, '  Hot  love  soon  grows  cold.'  Never 
^dar,  Kate  1  you'll  get  to  like  Mr.  Smythie  well  enough,  when  you  come  to 
oe  the  misttress  of  Montagu  Castle,  ana  take  rank  as  the  grandest  lady  of 
the  island.  Won't  that  be  happiness,  little  Kate  ?" 

M  Ah  I"  thought  the  young  Creole,  "  a  cabin  shared  with  Mm  would  be 
greater  happiness — far,  far  greater !" 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  "  him"  to  whom  the  thought  pointed  wai 
not  Smythje. 

"As  Mrs.  Montagu  Smythje,"  proceeded  the  Gustos, with  the  design  of 
painting  the  future  prospects  of  his  daughter  in  still  more  glowing  tints, 
"  you  will  have  troops  of  friends — the  highest  in  the  land.  And  remem* 
ber,  my  child,  it  is  not  so  now.  You  know  it,  Catherine  ?" 

These  last  words  were  pronounced  in  a  tone  suggestive  of  some  secret 
understanding  between  father  and  daughter.  The  purpose  was  to  bring 
forcibly  before  the  mind  of  the  young  girl  a  certain  fact  and  thought — in 
order  that  she  might  the  more  eagerly  embrace  the  opportunity  of  escap- 
ing from  that  humiliating  position,  of  late  better  known  to  her. 

Whether  the  confidential  speech  produced  the  desired  effect,  he  who 
made  it  did  not  stay  to  perceive  ;  but  continued  on  in  the  same  breath  to 
finish  the  rose-coloured  picture  he  had  essayed  to  paint. 

"  Yes,  my  little  Kate!  you  will  be  the  observed  of  all  observers — the 
cynosure,  as  the  poets  say.  Horses,  slaves,  dresses,  carriages  at  will. 
You  will  make  a  grand  tour  to  London — egad !  I  feel  like  going  myself  1 
In  the  great  metropolis  you  will  hob-nob  with  lords  and  ladies ;  visit  the 
operas  and  balls,  where  you  will  be  a  belle,  my  girl — a  belle  ;  do  you 
hear  ?  Every  one  will  be  talking  of  Mrs.  Montagu  Smythje  1  How  do  you 
like  it  now  ?" 

"  Ah,  papa !"  replied  the  young  Creole,  evidently  unmoved  by  these 
promises  of  pomp  and  grandeur ;  "  I  should  not  like  it  at  all.  I  am  sure  I 
should  not.  1  never  cared  for  such  things — you  know  I  do  not.  They 
cannot  give  happiness — at  least,  not  to  me.  I  should  never  be  happy 
away  from  our  own  home.  What  pleasure  should  I  have  in  a  great  city? 
None,  I  am  sure;  but  quite  the  contrary.  I  should  miss  our  grand 
mountains  and  woods — our  beautiful  trees  with  their  gay,  perfumed 
blossoms — our  bright-winged  birds  with  the  sweet  songs !  Operas  and  t 
balls!  I  dislike  balls;  and  to  be  the  belle  of  one — papa  I  detest  the 
word  I" 

Kate  at  that  moment,  was  thinking  of  the  Smythje  ball,  and  its  dis 
agreeable  souvenirs — perhaps  the  more  disagreeable,  that  oftener  than 
once  during  the  night  she  had  heard  the  phrase  "  belle  of  the  ball" 
applied  to  one  who  had  aided  in  the  desolation  of  ier  heart. 

"  Oh  I  you  will  get  over  that  dislike,''  returned  Mr.  Vaughan,  "  once 
vou  go  into  fashionable  sorlety  Most  young  ladies  do.  There  is  no 
harm  in  balls,  after  a  girl  gets  married,  and  her  husband  goes  with  her,  to 
take  care  of  her — no  harm  whatever. 

u  But,  now,  Kate,"  continued  the  Gustos,  betraying  a  certain  degree  of 


WAY.  199 

L»>rvous  impatience     "  We  must  come  to  an  understanding.    Mr.  9mythj« 
te  waiting." 

"  For  what  is  he  waiting,  papa?" 

"  Tut !  tut !  child,"  said  Mr.  Vaughan,  slightly  irritated  by  his  daughter'* 
apparent  incapacity  to  comprehend  him.  "  Surely  you  know  ?  Have  I 
not  as  good  as  told  you  ?  Mr.  Smythje  is  going  to — to  offer  you  hi§ 
heart  and  hand  ;  and — and  to  ask  yours  in  return.  That  is  what  he  is 
waiting  to  do.  You  will  not  refuse  him? — you  must  not  1" 

Loftus  Vaughan  would  have  spoken  more  gracefully  had  he  omitted 
the  last  phrase.  It  had  the  sound  of  a  command,  with  an  implied  threat; 
and  jarring  upon  the  ear  of  her  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  might  have 
roused  a  spirit  o£  rebellion.  It  is  just  possible  that  such  would  have 
been  its  effect,- had  it  been  spoken  on  the  eve  of  the  Smythje  ball  instead 
of  the  morning  after. 

The  incidents  occurring  there  had  extinguished  all  hope  in  the  breast 
of  the  young  Creole  that  she  should  ever  share  happiness  with  Herbert 
Vaughan — had  at  the  same  time  destroyed  any  thought  of  resistance  to 
the  will  of  her  father  ;  and,  with  a  thought  of  apathetic  despair,  she  sub- 
mitted herself  to  the  sacrifice  which  her  father  had  determined  upon. 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth,"  said  she,  gazing  fixedly  in  the  face  of  her 
father,  as  if  to  impress  him  with  the  idleness  of  the  arguments  he  had 
been  using.  "  I  cannot  give  Mr.  Smythje  my  heart ;  I  shall  tell  him  the 
same." 

"  No — no !"  hastily  rejoined  the  importunate  parent ;  "  you  must  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Give  him  your  hand  ;  and  say  nothing  about  your 
heart.  That  you  can  bestow  afterwards — when  you  are  safe  married." 

"  Never,  never  !"  said  the  young  girl,  sighing  painfully  as  she  spoke. 
"  I  cannot  practice  that  deception.  No,  father,  not  even  for  you.  Mr. 
Smythje  shall  know  all ;  and,  if  he  choose  to  accept  my  hand  without  my 
heart " 

"  Then  you  promise  to  give  him  your  hand  ?"  interrupted  the  Gusto*, 
in  joy  at  this  hypothetical  consent. 

"  It  is  you  who  give  it ;  not  I,  father." 

"  Enough  I"  cried  Mr.  Vaughan,  hastily  turning  his  eyes  to  the  garden, 
as  if  to  search  for  the  insect-hunter.  "  I  shall  give  it,"  continued  he, 
"  and  this  very  minute.  Mr.  Smythje  !" 

Smythje,  standing  close  by  the  kiosk,  on  the  qui  vive  of  expectation, 
promptly  responded  to  the  summons;  and  in  two  seconds  of  time  appeared 
in  the  open  doorway. 

"  Mr.  Smythje — Sir!"  said  the  Gustos,  putting  on  an  air  of  pompous 
solemnity  befitting  the  occasion.  "You  have  asked  for  my  daughter'* 
Land  in  marriage  ;  and,  Sir,  I  am  happy  to  infcrm  you,  that  she  has  con- 
sented to  your  becoming  my  son-in-law.  I  am  proud  of  the  honour,  Sir." 

Here  Mr.  Vaughan  paused  to  get  breath. 

"  A.w,  aw  !"  stammered  Smythje.  This  is  a  gweat  happiness — veway 
gweat.  indeed  ?  Quite  unexpected !—- aw,  aw  I—I  am  shaw.  Miss  Vawns, 
I  nevaw  dweamt " 

"  Now,  my  children,"  playfully  interrupted  the  Gustos — covering 
Bmythje's  embarrassment  by  the  interruption — "  I  have  bestowed  yo« 
upon  one  another ;  and,  with  my  blessing,  I  leave  you  to  yourself." 


200  THE   DUPPY'S   HOLE. 

So  saying,  the  gratified  father  stepped  forth  from  rho  kiosk,  and  -wend 
ing  his  way  along  the  walk,  disappeared  within  the  door  of  his  dwelling 

We  shall  not  intrude  upon  the  lovers  thus  left  alone,  nor  repeat  a  singh 
word  of  what  passed  between  them.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  when  Smy  thje 
Game  out  of  that  same  kiosk,  his  air  was  rather  tranquil  than  triumphant 
A  portion  of  the  shadow  that  sate  upon  Kate's  countenance  seemed  to 
have  been  transmitted  to  his.  One  might  have  fancied  him  the  recipient 
of  the  "  sack,"  but  for  the  words  that  passed  between  him  and  his  in- 
tended father-in-law,  as  they  met  the  moment  after  in  the  great  hall. 

"  Well  ?"  anxiously  inquired  the  latter. 

"  Aw !  all  wight ;  betwothed.  Vewy  stwaynge,  thaw— inexpwicably 
gtwange  1" 

"  Eow  strange  1"  demanded  Mr.  Vaughan, 

"  Aw,  vewy  mild.  Aw  expected  haw  to  go  into  hystewics.  Ba  Jawve 
naw  :  she  weceived  ma  declawation  as  cool  as  a  cucumbaw !" 

She  had  done  more  than  that :  she  had  given  him  a  hand  without  a 
heart.  And  Smythje  knew  it ;  for  Kate  Vaughan  had  kept  her  promise. 


CHAPTER   LXII 
THB  DTJPPT'S  HOLE. 

ON  the  flank  of  the  "  Mountain,"  that  frowned  towards  the  happy  Valley, 
and  not  far  from  the  Jambe  Rock,  a  spring  gushed  forth.  So  copious  was 
it  as  to  merit  the  name  of  fountain.  In  its  descent  down  the  slope  it  was 
joined  by  others,  and  soon  became  a  torrent — leaping  from  ledge  to  ledge 
and  foaming  as  it  followed  its  onward  course. 

About  half-way  between  the  summit  and  base  of  the  mountain,  a  deep 
longitudinal  hollow  lay  in  its  track — into  which  the  stream  was  precipi- 
tated, in  a  clear,  curving  cascade. 

This  singular  hollow  resembled  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano — in  the 
circumstance  that  on  all  sides  it  was  surrounded  by  a  precipice  facing  in- 
ward, and  rising  two  hundred  feet  sheer  from  the  level  below.  It  was 
not  of  circular  shape,  however — as  craters  generally  are — but  of  the 
form  of  a  ship,  the  stream  falling  in  over  the  poop,  and  afterwards  escap- 
ing through  a  narrow  cleft  at  the  bow. 

Preserving  the  simile  of  a  ship,  it  may  be  stated  that  the  chapnel  ran 
directly  fore  and  aft,  bisecting  the  surface  of  the  valley,  an  area  of  seve- 
ral acres,  into  two  equal  parts — but  in  consequence  of  an  obstruction  at 
its  exit,  the  stream  formed  a  lagoon,  or  dam,  flooding  the  whole  of  the 
fore-deck,  while  the  main  and  quarter  decks  were  covered  with  a  growth 
of  indigenous  timber-trees,  of  appearance  primeval.  The  water,  ou 
leaving  the  lagoon,  made  its  escape  below,  through  a  gorge  black  and 
narrow,  bounded  on  each  side  by  the  same  beetling  cliffs  that  surrounded 
the  valley.  At  the  lower  end  of  this  gorge  was  a  second  waterfall,  where 
the  stream  again  pitched  over  a  precipice  of  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in 
height ;  and  thence,  traversing  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  ended  in  be- 
coming a  tributary  of  the  Montego  River. 

The  upper  cascade  precipitated  itself  upon  a  bed  of  grim  black  bouldejuj 


1)  UP  PITS   ilULK. 

between  which  the  froth-crested  water  seethed  onward  tt  the  lagoon 
below. 

Above  these  boulders  hung  continuously  a  cloud  of  white  Tapour, 
like  steam  ascending  out  of  some  gigantic  cauldron  or  gas-work. 

When  the  sun  was  upon  that  side  of  the  mountain,  an  iris  might  be 
seen  shining  amidst  the  fleecelike  vapour.     But  rare  was  the  eye  that  be- 
held this  beautiful  phenomenon ;  for  the  Duppy's  Hole — in  negro  parlanco 
I  the  appellation  of  the  place — shared  the  reputation  of  the  Jumbe  rock; 
|ind  few  were  the  negroes  who  would  have  ventured  to  approach,  oven 
to  the  edge  of  this    cavernous  abysm.     Fewer  those  who  would  have 
dared  to  descend  into  it. 

Indeed,  something  more  than  superstitious  terror  might  have  hindered 
the  execution  of  this  last  project ;  since  a  descent  into  the  Duppy's  Hole 
appeared  an  impossibility.  Down  the  beetling  cliffs  that  encompassed  it, 
there  was  neither  path  nor  pass — not  a  ledge  on  which  the  foot  might 
have  rested  with  safety.  Only  at  one  point — and  that  where  the  preci 
pice  rose  over  the  lagoon — might  a  descent  have  been  made  by  means  of 
some  stunted  trees  that,  rooting  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  formed  a  strag 
gling  screen  up  the  face  of  the  cliff.  There  an  agile  individual  might 
possibly  have  scrambled  down  ;  but  the  dammed  water — dark  and  deep 
— would  have  hindered  him  from  reaching  the  quarter-deck  of  this  ship- 
ehaped  ravine,  unless  by  swimming  ;  and  this,  the  suck  of  the  current  to- 
wards the  gorge  below  would  have  rendered  a  most  perilous  perform 
•nee. 

It  was  evident  that  some  one  had  tempted  this  peril :  for  on  scrutini- 
sing the  straggling  trees  upon  the  cliff,  a  sort  of  stairway  could  be  dis- 
tinguished— the  outstanding  stems  serving  as  steps,  with  the  parasitical 
creepers  connecting  them  together. 

Moreover,  at  intervals  during  the  day,  a  tiny  string  of  smoke  might 
have  been  seen  ascending  out  of  the  Duppy's  Hole,  which,  after  curling 
diffusely  over  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees,  out  of  which  it  rose,  would  dis- 
solve itself,  and  become  invisible.  Only  one  standing  upon  the  cliff 
above,  and  parting  the  foliage  that  screened  it  to  its  very  brink,  could 
have  seen  this  smoke  ;  and,  if  only  superficially  observed,  it  might  easily 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  stray  waif  of  the  fog  that  floated  above  the 
waterfall  near  which  it  rose.  Closely  scrutinised,  however,  its  blue  col- 
"*  our  and  soft  filmy  haze  rendered  it  recognisable  as  the  smoke  of  a  wood 
fire,  and  one  that  must  have  been  made  by  human  hands. 

Any  day  might  it  have  been  seen,  and  three  times  a-day — at  morning 
noon,  and  evening — as  if  the  fire  had  been  kindled  for  the  purpose  of 
cooking  the  three  regular  meals  of  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper. 

The  diurnal  appearance  of  the  smoke  proved  the  presence  of  a  human- 
being  or  beings.  One,  at  least,  disregarding  the  superstitious  terror  at- 
tached to  the  place,  had  made  the  Duppy's  Hole  his  home.  By  exploring 
the  valley,  other  evidences  of  human  presence  could  be  found.  Under 
the  branches  of  a  large  tree,  standing  by  the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  and 
from  which  the  silvery  tillandsia  fell  in  festoons  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  a  small  canoe  of  rude  construction  might  be  seen,  a  foot  or  two 
of  its  stem  protruding  from  the  moss.  A  piece  of  twisted  withe  attach- 
ing it  to  the  tree  told  that  it  had  not  drifted  there  by  accident,  but  wa§ 
moored  by  some  one  who  meant  to  return  to  it* 


202  ttfE   DUPPY^S    TTOL& 

From  the  ? dge  of  the  lagoon  to  the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  the  ground^ 
as  already  stated,  was  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of  forest  timber- 
where  the  eye  of  the  botanical  observer  might  distinguish,  by  their  forms 
and  foliage,  many  of  those  magnificent  indigenous  trees  for  which  the 
tylva  of  Jamaica  has  long  been  celebrated. 

There  stood  the  gigantic  )edrela,  and  its  kindred,  the  bastard  cedar, 
with  elm-like  leaves  ;*  the  *  mountain  mahoe  ;  "  f  the  "  tropic  birdt  ;"J 
and  the  world  known  mahogany. 

Here  and  there  the  lance-like  culms  of  bamboos  might  be  seen  ekvsot- 
ing  up  over  the  tops  of  the  dicotyledons,  or  forming  a  fringe  along  the 
cliffs  above,  intermingled  with  trumpet  trees  §  with  their  singular  peltate 
loaves,  and  tall  tree-ferns,  whose  delicate  lace-like  fronds  formed  a  netted 
tracery  against  the  blue  background  of  the  sky. 

In  the  rich  soil  of  the  valley  nourished  luxuriantly  the  noble  cabbage 
palm — ih  s  prince  of  the  Jamaica  forest — while,  by  its  side,  claiming  admi- 
ration for  the  massive  grandeur  of  its  form,  stood  the  patriarch  of  West 
Indian  trees — the  grand  uibn\  the  hoary  Spanish  moss  that  drooped  from 
its  spreading  branches  forming  an  appropriate  beard  for  the  venerable 
giant. 

Every  tree  had  its  parasites — not  a  single  species  but  in  hundreds,  and 
of  as  many  grotesque  shapes  some  twining  around  the  trunks  and  boughs 
like  huge  snakes  or  cables — some  seated  upon  the  limbs  or  in  the  forking 
of  the  branches  ;  and  others  hanging  suspended  from  the  topmost  twigs, 
like  stream  TB  from  the  rigging  of  a  ship.  Many  of  these  trailing  from 
tree  to  tree,  were  loaded  with  clusters  of  the  most  brilliant  flowers,  thus 
uniting  the  forest  into  one  continuous  arbour. 

Close  under  the  cliff,  and  near  where  the  cascade  came  tumbling  down 
from  the  rocks,  stood  a  tree  that  deserves  particular  mention.  It  was  a 
ceiba  of  enormous  dimensions,  with  a  buttressed  trunk,  that  covered  a 
surface  of  more  than  fifty  feet  in  diameter.  Its  vast  bole,  rising  nearly  to 
the  brow  of  the  cliff,  extended  horizontally  over  an  area  on  which  five 
hundred  men  could  have  conveniently  encamped ;  while  the  profuse 
growth  of  Spanish  moss  clustering  upon  its  branches,  ratker  than  its  own 
iparse  foilage,  would  have  shaded  them  from  the  sun,  completely  shutting 
out  the  view  overhead. 

Not  from  any  of  these  circumstances  was  the  tree  distinguished  from 
others  of  its  kind  frequently  met  with  in  the  mountain  forests  of  Jamaica. 
What  rendered  it  distinct  from  those  around  was,  that  between  two  of 
the  great  spurs  extending  outwards  from  its  trunk,  an  object  appeared 
which  indicated  the  presence  of  man. 

This  object  was  a  hut  constructed  in  the  most  simple  fashion — having 
for  its  side  walls  the  plate-like  buttresses  already  mentioned ;  while  in 
front  a  stockade  of  bamboo  stems  completed  the  inclosure.  In  the  centre 
of  the  stockade  a  narrow  space  had  been  left  open  for  the  entrance — 
which  could  be  closed,  when  occasion  required,  by  a  door  of  split  bam- 
boos that  hung  lightly  upon  its  hinges  of  withe. 

In  front,  the  roof  trendled  downward  from  the  main  trunk  of  the  tre« 
—following  tae  slope  c  f  the  spin?  to  a  height  of  some  six  feet  from  the 
ground.  Its  construction  was  of  the  simplest  kind — being  only  a  few 

t  Hibiscus  tili;icc;i*  J  Bursera.  $  CferoaplM. 


CfiAfcKA,   Tfifi   MtAL-MAtt.  203 

poles  laid  transversely,  and  over  these  a  thatch  of  the  long  \  innate  leaves 
of  the  cabbage  palin. 

The  hut  inside  was  of  triangular  shape,  and  of  no  inconsiderable  size 
— since  the  converging  spurs  terming  its  side  walls  extended  full  twelve 
feet  outwards  from  the  tree.  No  doubt  it  was  large  enough  for  whoever 
occupied  it ;  and  the  narrow  platform  of  bamboo  canes,  intended  as  a  bed- 
stead, showed  that  only  one  person  was  accustomed  to  pass  the  night 
tinder  the  shelter  of  its  roof. 

That  this  person  was  a  man  could  be  told,  by  the  presence  of  some  ar 
tides  of  male  attire  lying  upon  the  bamboo  couch — where  also  lay  a  piece 
of  rush  matting,  and  an  old,  tattered  blanket — evidently  the  solo  stock  ol 
bedding  which  the  hut  contained. 

The  furniture  was  scanty  as  simple.  The  cane  platform  already  men- 
tioned appeared  to  do  duty  also  as  a  table  and  chair  ;  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  an  old  tin  kettle,  some  calabash  bowls,  and  platters,  nothing 
else  could  be  seen  that  might  be  termed  a  "  utensil." 

There  were  articles,  however,  of  a  different  character,  and  plenty  of 
them  ;  but  these  were  neither  simple,  nor  their  uses  easily  understood. 
Against  the  walls  hung  a  variety  of  singular  objects — some  of  them  ri^ 
diculous,  and  some  of  hideous  aspect.  Among  the  latter  could  be  ob- 
served the  skin  of  the  dreaded  galliwasp  ;  the  two-headed  snake  ;*  the 
skull  and  tusks  of  a  savage  boar ;  dried  specimens  of  the  ugly  gecko 
lizard  ;  enormous  bats,  with  human-like  faces,  and  other  like  hideous 
creatures. 

Little  bags  suspended  from  the  rafters  contained  articles  of  still  more 
mysterious  import.  Balls  of  whitish  coloured  clay  ;  the  claws  of  the 
great  eared  owl ;  parrots'  beaks  and  feathers  ;  the  teeth  of  cats,  alligators, 
and  the  native  aguti ;  pieces  of  rag  and  broken  glass ;  with  a  score  of 
like  odds  and  ends,  forming  a  medley  as  miscellaneous  as  unintelligible. 

In  one  corner  was  a  wicker  basket — the  cutacoo — filled  with  roots  and 
plants  of  several  different  species,  among  which  might  be  identified  the 
dangerous  dumb  cane  ;f  the  savanna  flower  ;J  and  other  "  simples"  of  a 
suspicious  character. 

Entering  this  hut,  and  observing  the  singular  collection  of  specimens 
which  it  contained,  a  stranger  to  the  island  of  Jamaica  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  explain  their  presence  and  purpose.  Not  so,  one  acquainted 
with  the  forms  of  the  serpent  worship  of  Ethiopia — the  creed  of  the 
Coromantees.  The  grotesque  objects  were  but  symbols  of  the  Africac 
jetiaoh.  The  hut  was  a  temple  of  Obi :  in  plainer  terms,  the  dwelling  of 
an  (Jbeah  man. 


CHAPTER  LXm. 

CHAKRA,    THE    MYAL-MAN. 

THB  sun  was  just  going  down  to  his  bed  in  the  blue  Carribeau,  and  lint- 
ing  with  a  carmine-coloured  light  the  glistening  surface  of  the  Jumbf 
Rock  when  a  human  figure  was  seen  ascending  the  mountain  patj>  that 
led  to  that  noted  summit. 

I    *fjrphop«.  '  I  •  t  OaladJam  sejrulnnm     j*.     I  Kchltei  itrt>erectt 


204  CHAfcEA,  TtfS  MYAl-MAtf. 

Notwithstanding  the  gloom  of  the  indigenous  forest — every  moment 
becoming  more  obscure  under  the  fast  deepening  twilight — it  could  be 
easily  seen  that  the  figure  was  that  of  a  woman ;  while  the  buff  com- 
plexion of  her  face  and  naked  throat,  of  her  gloveless  hands,  and  shoe- 
less, stockinglees  feet  and  ankles,  proclaimed  her  a  woman  of  colour — a 
znulatta. 

Her  costume  was  in  keeping  with  her  caste.  A  frock  of  cotton  print 
t»'  flaunting  pattern,  half  open  at  the  breast ;  a  toque  of  Madras  kerchief 
3l  gaudy  hues — these  were  all  she  wore,  excepting  the  chemise  of  scarce 
(y  white  calico,  whose  needle -embroidered  border  showed  through  the 
opening  of  her  dress. 

She  was  a  woman  of  large  form,  and  bold,  passionate  physiognomy  ,* 
possessing  a  countenance  not  altogether  unlovely,  though  lacking  in  deli- 
cacy of  feature — its  beauty,  such  as  it  was,  being  of  a  purely  sensual 
character. 

Whatever  errand  she  was  on,  both  her  step  and  glance  bespoke  courage- 
ous resolve.  It  argued  courage  her  being  upon  the  "  Mountain,"  and  so 
near  the  Jumbe  Rock,  at  that  unusual  hour. 

But  there  are  passions  stronger  than  fear.  Even  the  terror  of  the 
supernatural  fades  from  the  heart  that  is  benighted  with  love,  or  wrung 
by  jealousy.  Perhaps  this  lone  wanderer  of  the  forest  path  was  the  vic- 
tim of  one  or  the  other  ? 

A  certain  expression  of  nervous  anxiety — at  times  becoming  more 
anguiphed — would  have  argued  the  latter  to  be  the  passion  which  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind.  Love  should  have  looked  more  gentle  and  hope- 
ful. 

Though  it  was  evident  that  her  errand  was  not  one  of  ordinary  busi- 
ness, there  was  nothing  about  her  to  betray  its  exact  purpose.  A  basket 
of  palm  wicker-work,  suspended  over  her  wrist,  appeared  to  be  filled 
with  provisions :  the  half-closed  lid  permitting  to  be  seen  inside  a  conge- 
ries of  young  plantains,  tomatoes,  and  capsicums ;  while  the  legs  of  a 
guinea-fowl  protruded  from  the  opening. 

This  might  have  argued  a  certain  purpose — an  errand  to  market ;  but 
the  unusual  hour,  the  direction  taken,  and,  above  all,  the  air  and  bearing 
of  the  mulatta,  as  she  strode  up  the  mountain  path,  forbade  the  supposi- 
tion that  she  was  going  to  market  The  Jumbe  Rock  was  not  a  likely 
place  to  find  sale  for  a  basket  of  provisions. 

After  all,  she  was  not  bound  thither.  On  arriving  within  sight  of  the 
•ummit,  she  paused  upon  the  path ;  and,  after  looking  around  for  a  minute 
or  two — aa  if  making  a  reconnoissance — she  faced  to  the  left,  and  advanced 
diagonally  across  the  flank  of  the  mountain. 

Her  turning  aside  from  the  Jumbe  Rock  coulcl  not  have  been  from  fear : 
for  the  direction  she  was  now  following  would  carry  her  to  a  place  equally 
dreaded  by  the  superstitious — the  Duppy's  Hole. 

That  she  was  proceeding  to  this  place  was  evident.  There  was  no 
distinct  path  leading  thither,  but  the  directness  of  her  course,  and  the 
confidence  with  which  she  kept  it,  told  that  she  must  have  gone  over  the 
ground  before. 

Forcing  her  way  through  the  tangle  of  vines  and  branches,  she  strode 
courageously  onward — until  at  length  she  arrived  on  the  edge  of  th* 
Duppy's  Hole. 


CHAKRA,   THE   MTAL-MAK.  205 

The  point  where  she  reached  it  was  just  above  the  gorge — tlie  plac« 
where  the  tree  stairway  already  described  led  down  to  the  lagoon.  From 
her  actions,  it  was  evident  that  the  way  was  known  to  her  ;  and  that  she 
meditated  a  descent  into  the  bottom  of  the  valley. 

That  she  knew  she  could  not  accomplish  this  feat  of  herself,  and  ex- 
pected some  one  to  come  to  her  assistance,  was  also  evident  from  hot 
proceeding  to  make  a  signal  as  soon  as  she  arrived  upon  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  Drawing  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress  a  small  white  kerchief,  she 
spread  it  open  upon  the  branch  of  a  tree  that  grew  conspicuously  over 
the  precipice ;  and  then,  resting  her  hand  against  the  trunk,  she  stood 
gazing  with  a  fixed  and  earnest  look  upon  the  water  below. 

In  the  twilight  now  fast  darkening  down,  even  the  white  kerchief 
might  have  femalued  unnoticed.  The  woman,  however,  appeared  to  have 
no  apprehension  upon  this  head.  Her  gaze  was  expectant  and  full  of 
confidence :  as  if  the  signal  had  been  a  preconcerted  one,  and  she  was 
conscious  that  the  individual  for  whom  it  was  intended  would  be  on  the 
lookout. 

Forewarned  or  not,  she  was  not  disappointed.  Scarce  five  minutes  had 
transpired  from  the  hanging  out  of  the  handkerchief,  when  a  canoe  was 
seen  shooting  out  from  under  the  moss-garnished  trees  that  fringed  the 
upper  edge  of  the  lagoon,  and  making  for  the  bottom  of  the  cliff  beneath 
where  she  stood. 

A  single  individual  occupied  the  canoe  ;  who,  even  under  the  sombre 
shadow  of  the  twilight,  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  dread  aspect. 

He  was  a  negro  of  gigantic  size — though  that  might  not  have  appeared 
as  oe  sat  squatted  in  the  canoe,  but  for  the  extreme  breadth  of  his  shoul- 
ders, between  which  was  set  a  huge  head,  almost  neckless.  His  back  was 
bent  like  a  bow,  presenting  an  enormous  hunch,  partly  the  effect  of 
advanced  age,  and  partly  from  natural  malformation.  His  attitude  in  the 
canoe  gave  him  a  double  stoop  :  so  that,  as  he  leant  forward  to  the  paddle, 
his  face  was  turned  downward,  as  if  he  was  regarding  some  object  in  tho 
bottom  of  the  craft.  His  long,  ape-like  arms,  however,  enabled  him  to 
reach  over  the  gunwale  without  bending  much  to  either  side  ;  and  only 
with  these  did  he  appear  to  make  any  exertion — his  body  remaining 
perfectly  immobile. 

The   dress  of  this  individual  was  at  the  same  time  grotesque  and 
savage.    The  only  part  of  it  which  belonged  to  civilised  fashion  was  a 
pair  of  wide  trousers  or  drawers,  of  coarse  Osnaburgh  linen — such  a*; 
are  worn  by  the  field  hands  on  a  sugar  plantation.    Their  dirty,  yellowish  I 
hue  told  that  they  had  long  been  strangers  to  the  laundry ;  while  severa1 
crimson-coloured  blotches  upon  them  proclaimed  that  their  last  wetting 
had  been  with  blood,  not  water. 

A  sort  of  kaross,  or  cloak,  made  out  of  the  skins  of  the  utia,  and  hung 
cyer  his  shoulders,  was  the  only  garment  he  wore.  This,  fastened  round 
his  thick  short  neck  by  a  piece  of  leathern  thong,  covered  the  whole  of 
hie  body  down  to  the  hams — the  Osnaburgh  drawers  continuing  th« 
costume  thence  to  his  ankles.  His  feet  were  bare.  Nor  needed  they 
any  protection  from  shoes — the  soles  being  thickly  covered  with  a  horn' 
like  callosity,  which  extended  from  the  ball  of  the  great  toe  to  the  broad 
heel,  far  protruding  backward. 
w  The  hoad-dress  was  equally  bitarrt,  It  was  a  sort  of  cap,  constructed 


206  THE  RESURRECTION. 

put  of  the  skin  of  some  wild  animal ;  and  fitting  closely,  exhibited,  in  all 
its  phrenological  fullness,  the  huge  negro  cranium  which  it  covered. 
There  was  no  brim ;  but,  in  its  place,  the  dried  and  stuffed  skin  of  the 
great  yellow  snake  was  wreathed  around  the  temples,  with  the  head  of 
the  reptile  in  front,  and  two  sparkling  pebbles  set  in  the  sockets  of  its 
eyes  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  life  ! 

The  countenance  of  the  negro  did  not  need  this  terrific  adornment  to 

inspire  those  who  beheld  it  with  fear.  The  sullen  glare  of  hia  deep- 
sot  eyeballs — the  broad  gaping  nostrils — the  teeth  filed  to  a  point,  and 
gleaming,  shark-like,  behind  his  purple  lips — the  red  tattooing  upon  his 
cheeks  and  broad  breast — the  latter  exposed  by  the  action  of  his  arms — 
all  combined  in  making  a  picture  that  needed  no  reptiliform  addition  to 
render  it  hideous  enough  for  the  most  horrid  of  purposes.  It  seemed  to 
terrify  even  the  wild  denizens  of  the  Duppy's  Hole.  The  heron,  couch- 
ing in  the  sedge,  flapped  up  with  an  affrighted  cry ;  and  the  flamingo, 
spreading  her  scarlet  wings,  rose  screaming  over  the  cliffs,  and  flew  far 
away.  Even  the  woman  who  awaited  him — bold  as  she  may  have  been, 
and  voluntary  as  her  rendezvous  appeared  to  be — could  not  help  shud- 
dering as  the  canoe  drew  near;  and  for  a  moment  she  appeared 
irresolute  as  to  whether  she  should  trust  herself  in  such  uncanny  com- 
pany. 

Her  resolution,  however,  stimulated  by  some  strong  passion,  soon  re- 
turned ;  and  as  the  canoe  swept  in  among  the  bushes  at  the  bottom  of 
the  cliff,  and  she  heard  the  voice  of  its  occupant  summoning  her  to  de- 
scend, she  plucked  the  signal  from  the  tree,  fixed  the  basket  firmly  over 
her  arm,  and  commenced  letting  herself  down  through  the  tangle  of 
branches. 

The  canoe  re-appeared  upon  the  open  water,  returning  across  the 
lagoon.  The  mulatta  woman  was  seated  in  the  stern,  the  man,  as  before, 
plying  the  paddle  ;  but  now  exerting  all  his  strength  to  prevent  the  light 
craft  from  being  carried  down  by  the  current  that  could  be  heard  hissing 
and  groaning  through  the  gorge  below. 

On  getting  back  under  the  tree  from  which  he  had  started,  the  negro 
corded  the  canoe  to  one  of  the  branches  ;  and  then,  scrambling  upon 
0hore,  followed  by  the  woman,  he  walked  on  towards  the  temple  of  Obi — 
of  which  he  was  himself  both  oracle  and  priest. 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

THE  RESURRECTION. 

A  RBIYKD  at  the  cotton-tree  hut,  the  myal-man— for  such  was  the  negro — 
dived  at  once  into  the  open  door,  his  broad  and  hunched  shoulders  scarce 
dealing  the  aperture. 

In  a  tone  rather  of  command  than  request,  he  directed  the  woman  to 
enter. 

The  mulatta  appeared  to  hesitate.  Inside,  the  place  was  dark  as  Ere- 
bus ;  though  without  it  was  not  very  different.  The  shadow  of  the  ceiba, 
with  its  dense  shrouding  of  moss,  interrupted  every  ray  of  the  moonlight 


THE   RESURRECTION.  207 

BOW  glistening  among  the  tops,  of  the  trees.    The  negro  noticed  the 
woman's  hesitation. 

"  Come  in  !"  cried  he  repeating  his  command  in  the  same  gruff  voice* 
"  You  me  iabbey — what  fo'  you  fear  ?" 

"  I'se  not  afraid,  Chakra,"  replied  she,  though  the  trembling  of  her  voice 
contradicted  the  assertion  ,  "  only,"  she  added,  still  hesitating,  "  it's  BO 
dark  in  there." 

"  Well,  den — you  'tay  outside,"  said  the  other,  relenting  ;  "  you  'lay 
dar  wha  you  is ;  a  soon  'trike  a  light." 

A  fumbling  was  heard,  and  then  the  chink  of  steel  against  flint,  followed 
by  a  fiery  spark.  A  piece  of  punk  was  set  ablaze,  and  from  this  the 
flamo  was  communicated  to  a  sort  of  lamp,  composed  of  the  carapace  of 
a  turtle,  filled  with  wild  hog's  lard,  and  with  a  wick  twisted  out  of  ttie 
down  of  the  cotton  tree. 

"  Now  you  come  in,  Cynthy,"  resumed  the  negro,  placing  the  lamp  upon 
the  floor.  "  Wha  I  you  'till  afread  ?  You  de  dauter  ob  Juno  Vaghn — you 
modder  no  fear  ole  Chakra.  Whugh  1  she  no  fear  de  debbil  I" 

Cynthia,  thus  addressed,  might  have  thought  that  between  the  dread  of 
these  two  personages  there  was  not  much  to  choose ;  for  the  devil  him- 
self could  hardly  have  appeared  in  more  hideous  guise  than  the  human 
being  who  stood  before  her. 

"  Oh,  Chakra  !"  said  she,  as  she  stepped  inside  the  door,  and  caught 
Bight  of  the  weird-looking  garniture  of  the  walls ;  "  woman  may  well  bo 
'fraid.  Dis  am  a  fearful  place  ?" 

"  Not  so  fearful  as  de  Jumbe  rock,"  was  the  reply  of  the  myal-man,  ac- 
companied by  a  significant  glance,  and  something  between  a  smile  and  ft 
grin. 

"  True  "  said  the  mulatta,  gradually  recovering  her  self-possession ; 
"  true — you  hab  cause  say  so,  Chakra." 

"  Das  a  fac',  Cynthy."  ' 

"  But  tell  me,  good  Chakra,"  continued  the  mulatta,  giving  way  to 
a  woman's  feeling — curiosity — "how  did  you  ebber  'scape  from  the 
Jumbe  rock  ?  The  folks  sez  your  skeleton  is  still  up  there — chain  to  de 
palm  tree !" 

"  De  folk  'peek  da  troof.    My  'keleton  am  da,  jess  as  dey  say." 

The  woman  turned  upon  the  speaker  a  glance  in  which  astonishment 
was  mingled  with  fear,  the  latter  predominating. 

"  Your  skeleton?"  she  muttered,  interrogatively. 

"  Dem  same  ole  bones — da  'kull,  de  ribs,  de  joints,  drumticks,  an'  alL 
Golly,  gal  Cynthy  1  dat  ere  'pears  'stonish  you.  Wha  fo'  ?  Nuffin  in  dat. 
You  sabbey  ole  Chakra?  You  know  he  myal-man'!  Doau  care  who  know 
nov> — so  long  dey  b'lieve  um  dead.  Wha  for  myal-man,  ef  he  no  bring  de 
dead  to  life  'gain  ?  Be  shoo  Chakra  no  die  hisself,  so  long  he  knows  how 
store  dead  body  to  de  life.  Ole  Chakra  know  all  dat.  Dey  no  kill  him, 
nebber  1  Neider  de  white  folk  nor  de  brack  folk.  Dey  may  shoot  'im 
wid  gun—dey  may  hang  'im  by  the  neck — deymay  cut  off  'im  head — he 
come  to  life  'gain,  like  de  blue  lizard  and  de  glass  snake.  Dey  did  try 
kill  'im,  you  know.  Dey  'tarve  him  till  he  die  ob  hunger  and  thuss.  De 
John  Crow  pick  out  him  eyes,  and  tear  de  flesh  from  de  old  niggar's  body 
— leab  numn  but  de  bare  bones!  Ha!  Chakra  'lib  yet — he  hab  new 
bones,  new  fleeh !  Golly  !  you  him  sec  ?  he  'trong—he  fat  as  ebborhe  wa'J 
Ha",  ha:  ha!" 


208  CYNTHIA   CONFESSED. 

And  as  the  niaeous  negro  uttered  his  exulting  laugh  he  threw  up  his 
arms  and  turned  his  eyes  towards  his  own  person,  as  if  appealing  to  it 
for  proof  of  the  resurrection  he  professed  to  have  accomplished  1 

The  inulatta  stood  as  if  petrefied  by  the  recital :  every  word  of  which 
she  appeared  implicitly  to  believe.  She  was  too  much  terrified  to  speak 
and  remained  silent,  apparently  cowering  under  the  influence  of  a  super 
natural  awe. 

CHAPTER  LXT. 

OTNTHIA     CONFISSBD. 


THE  royal-man  perceived  the  advantage  he  had  gained ;  and  seeing  that  the 
curiosity  of  his  listener  was  satisfied — for  she  had  not  the  slightest  desire 
to  hear  more  about  the  matter — he  adroitly  changed  the  subject  to  one 
of  a  more  natural  character. 

"  You've  brought  de  basket  ob  wittle,  Cynthy  ?" 

"  Yes,  Chakra—there." 

"  Golly  !  urn's  berry  good — guinea-hen  an'  plenty  ob  yegable  fo'  the 
pepperpot.  Anything  fo'  drink,  g*  Habent  forgot  daat,  a  hope?  Iss 
da  mose  partickla  ob  all.*' 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it,  Chakr  There's  a  bottle  of  rum.  You'll 
find  it  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket  '  fed  a  deal  trouble  steal  it." 

"Who  you  'teal  it  from ?" 

"  Why,  master :  who  else  ?  He  hav«  grown  berry  partickler  of  late — 
carries  all  de  keys  himself ;  and  woa\  let  us  coloured  folk  go  near  de 
storeroom,  as  if  we  were  all  teevin'  oafrn1* 

"  Nebba  mind — nebba  you  mind,  Oj.tthy — maybe  Chakra  watch  him 
by'm-bye.  Wa,  now !"  added  he,  drfclf  jig  the  bottle  of  rum  out  of  the 
basket,  and  holding  it  up  to  the  light*  "De  buckra  preacher  he  say  dat 
'tolen  water  am  sweet.  A  'pose  da£  :u)Rn  rum  folia  de  same  exoepshuna. 
A  see  ef  urn  do." 

So  saying,  the  negro  drew  out  the  stepper  ;  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lip , 
and  buried  the  neck  up  to  the  swdil  between  his  capacious  jaws.  A 
series  of  "  clucks"  proclaimed  the  pas  gage  of  the  liquor  over  his  palate  j 
and  not  until  he  had  swallowed  half  a  pint  of  the  fiery  fluid,  did  he  with- 
draw the  neck  of  the  bottle  from  between  liis  teeth. 

"  Whugh !"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  aspirate  that  resembled  the  snort  •_! 
a  startled  hog.  "  Whugh  I"  he  repeutot:  stroking  his  abdomen  with  his 
huge  paw.  "  De  buckra  preacher  i  mi  -»lk  'bout  him  'tolen  water,  but 
gib  me  de  'tolen  rum.  You  good  gia,  Cyuthy — you  berry  good  gal  to 
tetch  ole  Chakra  dis  nice  basket  o'  wittle — he  sometime  berry  hungry— -he 
need  um  all." 

"  I  promise  to  bring  more — whenebber  I  can  get  away  from  the  Buff.' 

"Das  right,  my  picaninny !  An'  now,  gal,"  continued  the  myal-man 
changing  his  tone,  and  regarding  the  mulatto,  with  a  look  of  interroga- 
ttoii ;  "  wha  fo'  you  want  see  me  dis  night?  Tou  hab  some  purpiss  par 
tickJa  ?  Dat  so—eh,  gal  ?" 


CYNTHIA   CONFESSED.  209 

this  slie  cares  to  make  confession,  only  to  him  who  has  the  right  to  hear 
it.    Hence  Cynthia's  silent  and  hesitating  attitude. 

"  Wha  fo'  you  no  'peak  ?"  asked  the  grim  confessor.  "  Shoo' you  no  hab 
fear  ob  ole  Chakra?  You  no  need  fo'  tell  'im — he  know  you  secret 
a'ready— -you  lub  Cubina,  de  capen  ob  Maroon  ?  Dat  troof,  eh  ?" 

"  It  is  true,  Chakra.    I  shall  conceal  nothing  from  you." 

"  Better  not,  'cause  you  can't  'ceal  nuffin  from  ole  Chakra — he  Know 
eUbery  ting — little  bird  tell  um.  Wa,  now,  wha  nex'  ?  You  tink  Cubina 
no  lub  you  1" 

"  Ah  1  I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  the  mulatto,  her  bold  countenance  relax- 1 
ing  into  an  anguished  expression.  "  I  once  thought  he  love  me.  Now  1  \ 
no  think  so." 

"  You  tink  him  lub  some  odder  girl  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it — oh !  I  have  reason." 

"  Who  am  dis  odder  ?" 

"Yola." 

*  Yola !  Dat  ere  name  sound  new  to  me.    Wha  d's  she  long  to  ?" 
"  She  belongs  to  Mount  Welcome — she  Missa  Kate's  maid." 

"  Lily  Quasheba,  1  call  dat  young  lady,"  muttered  the  myal-man,  with  a 
knowing  grin.  "  But  dis  Yola  ?"  he  added :  "  whar  she  come  from  ?  A 
nebber  hear  the  name  afo'." 

"  Oh,  true,  Chakra ;  I  did  not  think  of  tellin  you.  She  was  bought  from 
the  Jew,  and  fetched  home  since  you— that  is,  after  you  left  the  planta- 
tion." 

"  Arter  I  lef  de  plantation  to  die  on  de  '  Jumbo*  rock' ;  ha  t  ha  I  ha  I 
Dat's  wha  you  mean,  Cynthy  ?" 

"  Yes — she  came  soon  after." 

"So  you  tink  Cubina  lub  her  T 

"  I  do." 

"  An'  she  'ciprocate  de  fekshun  ?" 

"  Ah,  surely!    How  could  she  help  do  that?" 

The  interrogatory  betrayed  the  speaker's  belief  that  the  Maroon  captain 
was  irresistible. 

"  Wa,  then — wha  you  want  me  do,  gal  ?  You  want  rebbenge  on  Cubina, 
'cause  he  hab  'trayed  you  ?  You  want  me  put  de  death- pell  on  him  ?" 

"  Oh !  no — no  !  not  that,  Chakra,  for  the  sake  of  heaven  I — not  that  1" 

*  Den  you  want  de  lub-spell  T 

fc  Ah  1  if  he  could  be  made  love  me  'gain — he  did  once.  That  is— I 
thought  he  did.  Is  it  possible,  good  Chakra,  to  make  him  love  me  ?" 

"  All  ting  be  possible  to  ole  Chakra  ;  an'  to  prove  dat,"  continued  h«, 
with  a  determined  air  ;  "  he  promise  put  de  lub-spell  on  Cubina." 

"  Oh,  thanks !  thanks  1"  cried  the  wmman,  stretching  out  her  hands,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  fervent  gratitude.  "What  can  I  do  for  you, 
Chakra  ?  I  bring  you  everything  you  ask.  I  steal  rum — I  steal  wine — I 
come  every  night  with  something  you  like  eat." 

•'  Wa,  Cynthy  ;  dat  berry  kind  ob  you ;  but  you  muss  do  more  dan  all 
dat?" 

"  Anything  you  ask  me — what  more  ?" 

"  You  must  help  in  de  spell.  It  take  bof  you  an'  me  to  bring  im  tboutf 

"  Only  tefl  me  how  to  do ;  and  trust  me,  Chakra,  I  shall  follow  your 
advice." 


210  THE   LOVE-SPELL. 

"  Wa,  den — lissen — I  tell  you  all  'bout  it.  But  sit  down  on  da  bambooi 
dar.  It  take  some  time." 

The  woman,  thus  directed,  took  her  seat  upon  the  cane  bedstead,  and 
remained  silent  and  attentive — watching  every  movement  of  her  hideous 
companion,  and  not  without  some  misgivings  as  to  the  compact  which 
was  about  to  be  entered  into  between  them. 


CHAPTER   LXVL 

THE  LOVE-SPELL. 

THE  countenance  of  the  myal-rnan  had  assumed  aa  air  of  solemnity  that 
betokened  some  serious  determination  ;  and  the  mulatta  felt  a  presenti- 
ment that,  in  return  for  his  services,  something  was  about  to  be  demand- 
ed of  her — something  more  than  a  payment  in  meat  and  drink. 

His  mysterious  behaviour  as  he  passed  around  the  hut ;  now  stopping 
before  one  of  the  grotesque  objects  that  adorned  the  wall,  now  before 
another — now  fumbling  among  the  little  bags  and  baskets,  as  if  in  search 
of  some  particular  charm — his  movements  made  in  solemn  silence,  only 
broken  by  the  melancholy  sighing  of  the  cataract  heard  from  without : 
all  this  was  producing  on  the  mind  of  the  mulatta  an  unpleasant  impres- 
sion ;  and,  despite  her  natural  courage,  sustained  as  it  was  by  the  burn- 
ing passion  that  devoured  her,  she  was  fast  giving  way  to  indefinable 
fear. 

The  priest  of  Obi,  after  appearing  to  have  worshipped  each  fetich  in 
turn,  at  length  transferred  his  devotions  to  the  rum-bottle — perhaps  the 
most  potent  god  in  his  whole  Pantheon.  Taking  another  long  spell  at  the 
neck,  followed  by  the  customory  "  Whugh!"  he  restored  the  bottle  to  its 
place ;  and  then,  seating  himself  upon  a  huge  turtle-shell,  that  formed 
part  of  the  plenishing  of  his  temple,  he  commenced  giving  his  devotee 
her  lesson  of  instructions. 

"  Fues,  dea,"  said  he,  "  to  put  de  lub-spell  on  any  body — eider  a  man 
or  a  woman — it  am  nessary,  at  de  same  time,  to  hab  de  death-'pell  'long 
wi'  it." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  his  listener,  exhibiting  a  degree  of  alarm  :"  the 
death-spell  ? — on  Cubina,  do  you  mean?" 

"  No,  not  on  him — dat's  not  a  nessary  consarquence.  But  'fore  Cubina 
be  made  lub  you,  someb'dy  else  muss  be  made  die'1 

"  Who,"  quickly  inquired  the  mulatta,  her  mind  at  the  moment  rever 
ting  to  one  whom  she  would  have  wished  to  be  the  victim. 

"  Who  you  tink  fo'  ?  who  you  greatest  enemy  you  wish  die  1" 

"  Tola,"  answered  the  woman,  m  a  low,  muttered  voice,  and  with 
scarce  ajtnoment  of  hesitation. 

"  Woah  do — woman  woan  do — muss  be  man ;  an'  more  dan  dat,  muss 
be  free  man.   Nigga  slave  woan  do.  Obi  god  tell  me  so  jess  now.  Buckra 
man,  too,  it  must  be.    If  buckra  man  hab  de  death-'pell,  Cubina  he  tak 
de  lub-spell  'trong — he  lub  you  hard  as  a  ole  mule  can  kick." 

"  Oh  1  if  he  would !"  exclaimed  the  passionate  mulatta,  in  an  ecstacy  of 
delightful  expectation  ;  "  I  shall  do  anything  for  that — anything." 


THE  BARGAIN  OF  OBEAH.  2ll 

'  u  Den  you  muss  help  put  de  dcath-'pell  on  some  ob  de  white  folk.  You 
h»b  buckra  enemy  ? — Chakra  hab  de  same." 

"  Who  ?"  inquired  the  woman,  reflectingly. 

"Who!  No  need  tell  who  Chakra  enemy — you  enemy  too.  Who 
fooled  you  long  time  'go  ?  who  'bused  you  when  you  wa*  young  gal  ?  No 
need  tell  you  dat,  Cynthy  Vagh'n  ?" 

The  mulatta  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  speaker  with  a  significant 
expression.  Some  old  memory  seemed  resuscitated  by  his  words,  and 
evidently  anything  but  a  pleasant  one. 

"  Massa  Loftus  ?"  she  said,  in  a  half -whisper. 

"  Sartin  shoo,  Massa  Loftus — dat  ere  buckra  you  enemy  an'  mine  boaf." 

"And  you  would ?" 

"  Set  de  obea'  fo'  him,"  said  the  negro,  finishing  the  interrogatory,  which 
the  other  had  hesitated  to  pronounce. 

The  woman  remained  without  making  answer,  and  as  if  buried  in 
reflection.  The  expression  upon  her  features  was  not  one  of  repentance. 

"  Muss  be  him  1"  continued  the  tempter,  as  if  to  win  her  more  com- 
pletely to  his  dark  project ;  "  no  odder  do  so  well.  Obi  god  say  so — 
muss  be  de  planter  ob  Moun'  Welc'm." 

"  If  Cubina  will  but  love  me,  I  care  not  who,"  rejoined  the  mulatta, 
with  an  air  of  reckless  determination. 

"  'Nuff  sed,"  resumed  the  myal-man.  "  De  death-'pell  ob  de  obeah  sha' 
be  set  on  de  proud  buckra,  Loffus  Vagh'u  ;  an'  you,  Cynthy,  must  'sist  in 
be  workin*  ob  de  tsharm." 

"  How  can  I  assist  ?"  inquired  the  woman,  in  a  voice  whose  trembliDg 
told  of  a  slight  irresolution  "  How,  Chakra  1" 

"  Dat  you  be  tole  by'm-by,  not  dis  night.  De  'pelltake  time.  You  de 
only  one,  'sides  one  odder,  who  know  ole  Ghakra  still  'live.  Odders  know 
de  ole  myal-man  in  de  mask,  but  nebba  see  urn  face,  an'  nebba  suspeck 
who  um  be.  Das  all  right.  You  tell  who  de  myal-man  am,  den " 

"  Oh,  never,  Chakra,"  interrupted  his  listener,  "  never !" 

"  No,  berra  not.  You  tell  dat,  Cynthy,  you  soon  feel  de  death-'pell  OD 
youseflf.  Now,  gal,"  continued  the  negro  rising  from  his  seat,  and  motion- 
ing the  mulatta  to  do  the  same,  "  time  fo1  you  go.  I  speck's  one  odder 
soon :  no  do  fo'  you  to  be  cotch  heaw  when  dat  odder  come.  Take  yon 
basket,  an'  folia  me." 

So  saying,  the  speaker  emptied  the  basket  of  its  heterogeueou* 
contents  ;  and,  handing  it  to  its  owner,  conducted  her  out  of  the  hut. 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

THE  BARGAIN  OP  OBEAH. 

t\»  a  while  after  the  departure  of  Cynthia,  the  temple  of  Obi  remained 
nntenanted,  except  by  its  dumb  deities  :  its  priest  having  gone  to  ferry 
his  neophyte  across  the  lagoon. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  alone — having  left  the  mulatta  to  make 
her   way  up   the   cliff,  and   homeward  to  Mount  Welcome,  where  8&a 


212  THE  BARGAIN   OF   OBEAH. 


It  was  evident  that  the  visit  of  the  mulatto  had  given  him  gratifies 
tion.  Even  in  the  dim  light  of  his  lard  lamp  an  expression  of  demoniag 
joy  could  be  distinguished  upon  his  ferocious  visage,  as  he  re-entered  the 
hut. 

"  One  dead  1"  cried  he,  in  an  exulting  tone,  "anodder  upon  'im  death 
bed  ;  and  now  de  third,  de  las'  an' wuss  ob  'em  all— ha  I  ha !  ha !— he  soon 
feel  de  bengeance  ob  Chakra,  de  myal-man  1" 

Thrice  did  the  wild,  maniac-like  laugh  peal  from  under  the  spreading  \ 
limbs  of  the  ceiba — reverberating  with  an  unearthly  echo  against  the  cliffs 
that  hemmed  in  the  Duppy's  Hole.    It  startled  the  denizens  of  the  dark 
lagoon ;  and  like  echoes  came  riding  up  the  ravine  the  scream  of  tht 
crane,  and  the  piercing  cry  of  the  wood  ibis. 

These  sounds  had  scarce  died  away,  when  one  of  a  somewhat  differ- 
ent intonation  was  heard  from  above.  It  resembled  a  shriek  ;  or  rather 
as  if  some  one  had  whistled  through  his  fingers.  Whoever  gave  utter- 
ance to  the  sound  was  upon  the  top  of  the  cliff— just  over  the  hut. 

Chakra  was  not  startled.  He  knew  it  was  a  signal,  and  given  by  the 
guest  he  was  expecting. 

"  Da's  de  ole  Jew  1"  muttered  he,  taking  the  rum-bottle,  and  concealing  it 
under  the  bedstead.  "  You  stay  dere  till  I  wants  ye  'gain,"  added  he 
addressing  himself  in  a  confidential  tone  to  this,  the  object  of  his  great- 
est adoration.  "  Now  for  de  nigga-dealer !  I'se  hab  news  fo'  him  '11  tickle 
'im  in  de  ribs  like  a  ole  guana  lizzard.  Not  dat  Chakra  care  fo'  him.  No 
— only,  on  dis  voyage,  boaf  am  sailin'  in  de  same  boat.  Da  he  go  'gain  !* 

This  last  exclamation  referred  to  a  repetition  of  the  signal  heard  fur- 
ther down :  as  if  the  whistler  was  advancing  along  the  cliff,  towards  the 
gorge  at  the  lower  end. 

A  third  call  proceeded  from  that  point  where  the  tree  stairway  scaled 
the  precipice — indicating  to  Chakra  that  his  visitor  was  there  awaiting 
him. 

Without  further  delay  the  ferryman — grim  as  Charon  himself — return- 
ed to  his  canoe ;  and  once  more  paddled  it  across  the  lagoon. 

At  the  same  time,  a  man  could  be  seen  descending  the  cliff,  through 
the  tangle  of  climbing  plants,  who,  on  the  arrival  of  the  canoe,  stood 
half -concealed  among  the  bushes  at  the  bottom,  ready  to  step  into  it.  The 
moon  shone  upon  a  blue  body-coat,  with  bright  buttons ;  upon  a  brown 
beaver  hat  and  white  skull-cap  ;  upon  tarnished  top-boots,  green  goggle*;,! 
and  an  enormous  umbrella. 

Chakra  did  not  need  to  scan  the  sharp  Israelitish  features  of  the  man,' 
to  ascertain  who  he  was. 

Jacob  Jessuron  was  there  by  appointment :  and  the  myal-man  knew 
both  his  presence  and  his  purpose. 

Not  a  word  of  recognition  passed  between  the  two,  nor  sign.  Only  a 
caution  from  Chakra — as  the  Jew,  swinging  by  a  branch,  let  himself  down 
into  the  canoe. 

"  'Tep  in  lightly,  Massr  Jake,  an'  doan*  push  da  canoe  down  *tream. 
Tarn  jess'  as  much  as  I  ken  do  to  keep  de  ole  craflf  out  ob  de  eddy.  She 
get  down  da,  an'  den  it  am  all  up  wif  boaf  o'  us."  , 

"  Blesh  my  soul  t  You  shay  Bf  V  rejoined  the  Jew,  glancing  fc  tfardi 
the  gorge,  and  shivering  as  he  Hsteutnl  to  the  hoarse  groaning  of  the 
water  among  the  grim  rocks.  "  S'help  me,  I  didn't  know  it  waa  danger 
oua.  Don't  fear,  Shakra !  I  step  in  aab  light  ash  a  feather," 


t]  A  tin  At  N    OF   OUR  AS.  213 

So  saying,  the  Jew  dropped  his  umbrella  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat ; 
and  then  let  himself  down  upon  the  top  of  it,  with  as  much  gentleness 
as  if  he  had  been  descending  upon  a  basket  of  eggs. 

The  ferryman,  seeing  his  freight  safely  aboard,  paddled  back  to  the 
mooring-place ;  and,  having  secured  his  craft  as  before,  conducted  his 
visitor  up  the  valley  in  the  direction  of  the  hut. 

On  entering  the  temple  of  Obi,  Jessuron — unlike  the  devotee  who  had 
just  left  it — showed  no  sighs  either  of  surprise  or  fear  at  its  fantastic 
adornments.  It  was  evident  he  had  worshipped  there  before. 

Nor  did  he  evince  a  special  veneration  for  the  shrine  ;  but,  seating 
himself  familiarly  on  the  bamboo  bedstead,  uttered  as  he  did  so  a  sonor- 
ous "  Ach !"  which  appeared  as  if  intended  to  express  satisfaction. 

At  the  same  time  he  drew  from  the  ample  pocket  of  his  coat  a  shining 
object,  which,  when  held  before  the  lamp,  appeared  to  be  a  bottle.  The 
label  seen  upon  its  side,  with  the  symbolical  bunch  of  grapes,  proved  i\ 
to  be  a  bottle  of  cognac. 

The  exclamation  of  the  myal-man,  which  the  sight  of  the  label  had  in- 
stantaneously elicited,  proved  that  equal  satisfaction  existed  on  his  side 
at  this  mode  of  initiating  an  interview. 

"  Hash  you  a  glass  among  your  belongingsh  ?"  inquired  the  Jew,  look* 
ing  around  the  hovel. 

"  No  ;  dis  yeer  do  ?"  asked  his  host,  presenting  a  small  calabash  with  a 
handle. 

"  Fush  rate.  Thish  liquor  drinksh  goot  out  of  anything.  I  had  it  from 
Capten  Showier  on  hish  last  voyage.  Jesh  taste  it,  good  Shakra,  before 
wo  begins  bishness." 

A  grunt  from  the  negro  announced  his  willing  assent  to  the  proposal. 

"  Whugh !  he  ejaculated,  after  swallowing  the  allowance  poured  for  him 
into  the  calabash. 

"  Ach  1  goot  it  ish  I"  said  his  guest,  on  quaffing  off  a  like  quantity  ; 
and  then  the  bottle  and  gourd  being  set  on  one  side,  the  two  queer  char- 
acters entered  into  the  field  of  free  conversation. 

In  this  the  Jew  took  the  initiative. 

"  I  hash  news  for  you,"  said  he,  "  very  shtrange  news,  if  you  hashn't 
already  heard  it,  Shakra !  Who  dosh  you  think  ish  dead  ?" 

"  Ha  I"  exclaimed  the  myal-man,  his  eye  suddenly  lighting  up  with  a 


gleam  of  ferocious  joy ;  "  he  gone  dead,  am  he  ?" 
"  Who  ?    I  hashn't  told  you,"  rejoined 


the  Jew,  his  features  assuming 

an  expression  of  mock  surprise.  "  But  true,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause  ; 
'*  true,  you  knew  he  wash  sick — you  knew  Justish  Bailey  was  sick,  an* 
not  liktly  to  get  over  it.  Well — he  hashen't,  poor  mansh !— he's  dead  and 
in  his  coffin  by  thish  time ;  he  breathed  his  lasht  yesterday." 

A  loud  and  highly  aspirated  "  Whugh  1"  was  the  only  answer  made  by 
myal-man.  The  utterance  was  not  meant  to  convey  any  melancholy  im- 
pression. On  the  contrary  by  its  peculiar  intonation,  it  indicated  as 
ttuch  satisfaction  as  any  amount  of  words  could  have  expressed. 

"  It  ish  very  shtrange,"  continued  the  penn-keeper,  in  the  same  tone  of 
affected  simplicity  ;  "  so  short  a  time  since  Mishter  Ridgely  died.  Two 
of  the  three  shustices  that  sat  on  your  trial,  good  Shakra.  It  looksh  ash 
if  Providensh  had  a  hand  in  it — it  dosh  1" 

u  Or  de  dibble,  mo'  like,  maybe  ?"  rejoined  Chakra,  with  a  significant 


214  THE  BARGAIN  OF  OBEAtt. 

"  Yesli — Gott  or  the  devil — one  or  t'other.  "Well,  Shakra,  you  hash  liaa 
your  refenge,  whichever  hash  helped  you  to  it.  Two  of  your  eriemiei 
ish  not  likely  to  trouble  you  again  ;  and  ash  for  the  third " 

"  Nor  he  berry  long,  Fse  speck','  interrupted  the  negro,  with  a  signifi- 
cant grin. 

"  What  you  shay  ?"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  in  ar  earnest  under-tone, 
'  Hash  you  heard  anythings  ?  Hash  the  wench  been  to  see  you  ?" 

"  All  right  'bout  her,  Massr  Jake." 

«  Goot^-she  hash  been?" 

"  Jess  leab  dis  place  'bout  quar'r  ob  an  hour  'go." 

"  And  she  saysh  she  will  help  you  to  set  the  obeah  shpell  for  him "?' 

"  Hab  no  fear — she  do  all  dat.  Obi  hab  spell  oba  her,  dat  make  her  d<i 
mose  anythin — ah!  anythin  in  de  world' — sartir  shoo.  Obi  all-powcrf u  1 
wi'  dat  gal." 

"  Yesh,  yesh  1"  assented  the  Jew ;  '•  I  knowsh  all  that.  And  if  Obi 
wash  to  fail,"  added  he,  doubtingly,  "  you  hash  a  drink,  goot  Shakra — I 
know  you  hash  a  drink,  ash  potent  as  Obi  or  any  other  of  your  gotsh." 

A  glance  of  mutual  intelligence  passed  between  the  two. 

"  How  long  dosh  it  take  your  shpell  to  work  ?"  inquired  the  penn- 
keeper,  after  an  interval  of  silence,  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  making 
some  calculation. 

"  Dat,"  replied  the  negro,  "  dat  depend  altogedder  on  de  sacomstance 
ob  how  long  de  spell  am  wanted  to  work.  Ef  'im  wanted,  Dhakra  make 
iin  in  tree  day  fotch  de  'trongest  indiwiddible  cla  out  o'  'im  boots  ;  or  iu 
tree  hour  he  do  same — but  ob  coorse  dat  ud  be  too  soon  fo'  be  safe.  A . 
spell  ob  tree  hours  too  'trong.  Dat  not  Obi  work — 'im  look  berry  like 
pisen." 

"Poison — yesh,  yesh,  it  would." 

"  Tree  day  too  short — tree  week  am  de  correct  time.  Den  de  spell 
work'zackly  like  fever  ob  de  teypos.  Nobody  hab  s'picion  'bout  'um." 

"  Three  weeks  you  shay  ?  And  no  symptoms  to  make  schandal  ? 
You're  shure  that  ish  sufficient  ?  Remember,  Shakra  ;  the  Cushtos  ish  a 
strong  man — strong  ash  a  bull." 

"  No  mar'r  'bout  dat.  Ef  he  '  trong  as  de  bull,  in  dat  period  ob  time  he 
grow  weak  as  de  new-drop  calf — I'se  be  vbpun' he  Daggering  Bob  long 
'fore  dat.  You  say  de  word,  Massr  Jake*  Obi  no  like  to  nigga.  Nigga 
only  brack  man;  he  no  get  pay  fo''im  work.  Obi  'zemble  buckra  inun. 
He  no  work  'less  him  pay." 

lfYesh — yesh!  dat  ish  only  sfiust  and  fair.  Obi  should  be  paid  ;  but 
ehay,  goot,  Shakra  !  how  much  ish  Ms  prishe  for  a  shpell  of  thish  kind  ?" 

"Ef  he  hab  no  interest  his  self  in  de  workin'  ob  de  'pell,  he  want  a 
hunder  poun'  ob  de  island.  When  he  hab  interest,  das  diff'rent — den  he 
takes  fifty." 

"  Fifty  poundsh  I  That  ish  big  monish,  good  Shakra  ?  In  thish  case 
Obi  hash  an  interest — more  ash  anybody  elsh.  He  hash  an  enemy,  and 
wants  refenge.  Ish  that  not  true,  goot  Shakra  ?" 

"  Das  da  troof.  Chakra  no  go  fo'  deny  'im.  But  das  jess  why  Obi 
'sent  do  dar  leetle  chore  fo'  fifty'poun'.  Obi  enemy  big  buckra — 'trong  as 
you  hab  jess  say — berry  dilFcu-lt  fo'  'pell  'im.  Any  odder  myal-maii 
charge  de  full  hunder  peun.'  Fack,  no  odder  kud  do  de  job — no  oddw 
but  ol«  Chakra  hab  dat  power." 


MYSTERIOUS   MOTIVE.  215 

u  Shay  no  more  about  the  prishe.  Fifty  poundsh  be  it.  Here'sh  half 
aown."  The  tempter  tossed  a  purse  containing  coin  into  the  outstretch- 
ed palm  of  the  obeah-man.  "  All  I  shtipulate  for  ish,  that  in  three  weeks 
you  earn  the  other  half;  and  then  we  shall  both  be  shquare  with  the 
Cushtos  Vochan — for  I  hash  my  refenge  to  shatisfy  ash  well  as  you 
Shakra." 

"  Nuf  sed,  Massr  Jake.  Tore  tree  day  de  'pell  sha'  be  put  on.  You 
back  come  to  de  Duppy  Hole  four  night  from  dis,  you  hear  how  'iui 
D»ork.  Whugh!" 

The  gourd  shell  was  again  brought  into  requisition ;  and,  after  a  yart- ! 
ing  "kiss"  at  the  cognac,  the  "  heel  tap"  of  which  remained  in  the  hut, 
the  precious  pair  emerged  into  the  open  air. 

The  priest  of  Obi  having  conducted  his  fellow-conspirator  across  the 
lagoon,  returned  to  his  temple,  and  set  himself  assiduously  to  finish  what 
was  left  of  the  liquor. 

"  Whugh  1"  ejaculated  he,  in  one  of  the  pauses  that  occurred  between 
two  vigorous  pulls  at  the  bottle  ;  "  ole  villum  Jew  wuss  dan  Chakra — 
wuss  dan  de  debbil  hisseffl  Doan'  know  wy  he  want  rebbenge.  Das 
nuffin'  to  me.  I  want  rebbenge,  an'  by  de  great  Accompong,  I'se  a  g'wine 
to  hab  it !  Ef  dis  gal  proob  true,  as  de  odders  did — she  muss  proob  true 
— in  tree  week  de  proud,  fat  buckra  jussis  dat  condemn  me  to  dat  Jumbe 
rock — *  Cussos  rodelorum,'  as  de  call  'im — won't  hab  no  more  flesh  on  'im 
bones  dan  de  keleton  he  tint  wa'  myen.  And  den,  when  'im  die — ah  1  den, 
affer  'im  die  de  daughter  ob  dat  Quasheba  dat  twenty  year  'go  'corn  de 
lub  ob  de  Coromantee  for  dat  ob  de  yellow  Maroon — maybe  de  lilly 
Quasheba  sleep  in  de  arms  ob  Chakra  de  myal-man.  v7hugh!" 

As  the  minister  of  Obi  gave  utterance  to  this  hypothetical  threat,  a 
lurid  light  glared  up  in  his  sunken  eyes,  and  his  white  shark-like  te,eth 
were  displayed  in  an  exulting  grin — hideous  as  if  the  demon  himself  were 
emiling  o$er  some  monstrous  menace ! 

Both  cognac  and  rum-bottle  were  repeatedly  tasted,  until  the  strong 
frame  of  the  Coromantee  gave  way  to  the  stronger  spirit  of  the  alcohol ; 
and,  muttering  fearful  threats  in  his  gumbo  jargon,  he  at  length  sank  un- 
conscious on  the  floor. 

There — under  the  light  of  the  lard  lamp,  now  flickering.-feebly — he  lay 
like  some  hideous  satyi  whom  Bacchus,  by  an  angry  blow,  had  foiled 
prostrate  to  the  earth! 


CHAPTER   LXVIII. 

THS  MYSTERIOUS  MOTIY*. 

\       ^-"S%B.;:. 

THE  original  motive  of  ife&yal-man,  in  conspiring  the  death  of  the  Gus- 
tos Vaug^ian,  wbuld  have  been  strong  enough  to  urge  him  on  without 
thisjiiew  instigation; "  As  we  have  seen,  it  was  one  of  deadly  revenge — 
sinfjsle  and  easily  understood. 

Not  so  easily  understood  was  that  which  actuated  the  Jew.  On  the 
contrary,  so  secretly  had  he  preserved  his  purposes,  that  no  living  rnaa 
—not  even  Chakra  himself — had  been  made  privy  to  them.  Up  to  this 


216 

momeK/  they  may  have  appeared  mysterious  •  and  the  time  has  arrived 
when  it  becomes  necessary  to  reveal  them.  The  explanation  will  show 
them  to  be  only  natural — only  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  thii 
crooked  and  cruel  old  man. 

It  is  source  necessary  to  say  that  Jacob  Jessuron  was  no  type  of  his 
race ;  nor,  indeed,  of  any  race.  A  German  Jew  by  birth,  it  was  not 
necessarily  this  that  made  him  either  slave-dealer  or  slave-stealer. 
Gliristians  have  taken  their  full  share  in  both  branches  of  the  nefarious 
trade ;  and  equally  with  both  Jews  and  Mohammedans  have  they  been 
guilty  of  its  most  hideous  enormities.  It  was  not,  therefore,  because 
Jacob  Jessuron  chanced  to  be  a  Jew  that  ho  was  a  trafficker  in  human 
flesh  and  blood — no  more  that  he  was  a  villanous  man  ;  but  because  he 
was  Jacob  Jessuron — a  representative  of  neither  race  nor  nation,  but 
simply  a  character  sui  generis. 

Without  dwelling  upon  his  general  demerits,  let  us  return  to  the  more 
particular  theme  of  the  motive,  or  motive.8,  which  were  instigating  him 
to  make  a  victim  of  his  neighbour  Vaughan — a  death  victim :  for  his  con- 
versation with  Chakra  showed  that  this  was  the  very  starting  point  of 
his  intentions. 

In  the  first  place,  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  domestic  history  of 
the  planter — at  least,  with  that  portion  of  it  that  had  transpired  subse- 
quent to  the  latter's  coming  into  possession  of  Mouilt  Welcome.  He 
knew  something  of  Mr.  Vaughan  previously,  while  the  latter  was  manager 
of  the  Montagu  Castle  estate;  but  it  was  only  after  the  Gustos  had 
become  his  nearer  neighbour,  by  removal  to  his  present  residence,  that 
the  Jew's  knowledge  of  him  and  his  private  affairs  had  become  intimate 
and  accurate. 

This  knowledge  he  had  obtained  in  various  ways :  partly  by  the  oppor 
tunities  of  social  intercourse,  never  very  cordial ;  partly  through  business 
transactions  ;  and,  perhaps,  more  than  all — at  least,  as  regarded  some  of 
the  more  secret  passages  of  Mr.  Vaughan's  history — from  the  myal-man, 
Chakra. 

Notwithstanding  his  grotesque  hideousness,  the  Coromantee  was  gifted 
with  a  rare  though  dangerous  intelligence.  He  was  au  fait  to  every- 
thing that  had  occurred  upon  the  plantation  of  Mount  Welcome  for  a 
past  period  of  more  than  forty  years.  As  already  hinted,  he  knew  too 
much ;  and  it  was  this  inconvenient  omniscience  that  had  caused  him  to 
be  consigned  to  the  Jumbe  rock. 

For  more  than  one  purpose  had  the  Jew  made  use  of  the  myal-man ; 
and  if  the  latter  was  at  present  assisting  him  in  his  dark  design,  it  was 
not  the  first  by  many,  both  deep  and  dark,  in  which  Chakra  had  lent  him 
a  hand.  The  secret  partnership  had  been  of  long  duration. 

The  Jew's  knowledge  of  the  affairs  of  Loftus  Vaughan  extended  to 
many  facts  unknown  even  to  Chakra.  One  of  these  was,  that  his  neigh- 
bour was  blessed  with  an  English  brother,  who  had  an  only  son. 

An  artist  was  the  English  brother,  without  fortune — almost  without 
name.  Many  other  circumstances  relating  to  him  had  come  to  th« 
knowledge  of  Jessuron ;  among  the  rest,  that  the  proud  Gustos  knew 
Uttle  about  his  poor  English  relatives,  cared  less,  and  scarcely  kept  np 
lorrespondence  with  them. 

la  what  way  could  this  knowledge  interest  Jacob  Jessuron,  for  it  did  T 


Tflfi  MYSTERIOUS  MOTIVE.  217 

That  -we  shall  presently  see.     Indeed,  the  reason  may  be  guessed  at.    It 
hag  been  given  already  ;  though  it  may  be  here  stated  more  fully. 
As  was  well  known,  Loftus  Vaughan  had  never  been  married  to  the 


pedantically  styled  "  octoroon" — a  title  which,  it  may  here  be  stated,  hat 
no  existence  except  in  the  romantic  brains  of  these  second-hand  littera- 
teurs. 

We  repeat  it— had  the  slave  Quasheba  been  either  a  white  woman,  or 
even  a  mustec,  the  fact  of  a  marriage,  or  no  marriage,  would  have  signified 
little — so  far  as  regarded  the  succession  of  her  offspring  to  the  estates  of 
the  father.  It  is  true  that,  if  not  married,  the  daughter  would,  by  the 
laws  of  Jamaica — as  by  those  of  other  lands — still  have  been  illegitimate; 
but  for  all  that,  she  could  have  inherited  her  father  s  property,  if  left  to 
for  by  will :  since  in  Jamaica  no  entail  existed. 

As  things  stood,  however,  the  case  was  widely,  and  for  the  lilly  Quash- 
eba— Kate  Vaughan  —  dangerously  different.  Her  mother  was  only  a 
quadroon;  and,  married  or  unmarried,  she,  the  daughter,  could  not  inherit 
— even  by  will — beyond  the  paltry  legacy  of  £2,000  currency,  or  £1,500 
sterling ! 

Kate  Vaughan  was  herself  only  a  mustee — still  wanting  one  step  farther 
from  slavery  to  bring  her  within  the  protecting  pale  of  freedom,  and  the 
enjoyment  of  its  favours. 

No  will  that  Loftus  Vaughan  could  decree,  no  testamentary  disposition 
he  might  make,  could  render  his  daughter  his  devisee — his  heiress. 

He  might  will  his  property  to  anybody  he  pleased :  so  long  as  that 
anybody  was  a  so-called  white;  but,  failing  to  make  such  a  testament,  hi§ 
estate  of  Mount  Welcome,  with  ah1  he  possessed  besides,  must  fall  to  the 
next  kin — in  short,  to  his  nephew  Herbert. 

Was  there  no  remedy  for  this  unspeakable  dilemma  ?  No  means  bj 
which  the  young  Creole  might  be  saved  from  disinheritance  ? 

The  question  has  been  already  answered — there  was. 

Loftus  Vaughan  knew  the  remedy,  and  fully  intended  to  adopt  it. 
Every  day  was  he  designing  to  set  out  for  Spanish  Town,  to  obtain  th« 
tpecial  act;  and  every  day  was  the  journey  put  off. 

It  was  the  execution  of  this  design  that  the  Jew  Jessuron  of  all 
things  dreaded  most ;  and  to  prevent  it  was  the  object  of  his  visit  to  tha 
kemple  of  Obi. 

Why  he  dreaded  it  scarce  needs  explanation. 

Should  Loftus  Vaughan  fail  in  his  intent,  Herbert  Vaughan  would  b« 
the  heir  of  Mount  Welcome  :  and  Herbert's  heart  was  in  the  keeping  of 
Judith  Jessuron. 

So  fondly  believed  the  Jewess  ;  and,  with  her  assurance  of  the  fact,  BO 
also  the  Jew. 

The  love-spett  woven  by  Judith  had  been  the  first  step  towards  securing 
the  grand  inheritance ;  the  second  was  to  be  the  death-spell,  administered 
by  Chakra  and  his  aooly  to. 


T3E  DEATH-SPELL. 
CHAPT^H    LXIX. 

THE      DEATH-SPELL. 

OH  the  night  after  that  on  which  Chakra  had  given  recoptit  n  to  Jeseurca, 
and  about  the  same  hour,  the  Coromantee  was  at  home  in  his  hut,  engag- 
ed in  some  operation  of  an  apparently  important  nature  :  since  it  engross 
I  ed  his  whole  attention. 

A  fire  was  burning  hi  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in  a  rude,  extemporised 
furnace,  constructed  by  four  large  stones  so  placed  as  to  inclose  a  small 
quadrangle. 

The  fuel  with  which  this  fire  was  fed,  although  giving  out  a  great  deal 
of  smoke,  burnt  also  with  a  bright,  clear  flame.  It  was  not  wood,  but 
consisted  of  a  number  of  black  agglutinated  masses,  bearing  a  consider- 
able resemblance  to  peat  or  coal. 

A  stranger  to  Jamaica  might  have  been  puzzled  to  make  out  what  it 
was  ;  but  a  denizen  of  the  island  would  have  told  it  at  a  glance,  that  the 
d  ark-coloured  pieces  that  appeared  to  be  freshly  piled  upon  the  fire  were 
fragments  detached  from  the  nests  of  the  Duck-ants,  which,  often  aa 
large  as  hogsheads,  may  be  seen  adhering  to  the  trees  of  a  tropical  forest 

As  the  smoke  emitted  by  this  fuel  is -less  painful  to  the  eyes  than  that 
of  a  wood  fire,  and  yet  more  efficacious  in  clearing  out  the  mosquitoes—- 
that plague  of  a  southern  clime— it  may  be  supposed  that  the  Coroman- 
tee had  chosen  it  on  that  account.  Whether  or  not,  it  served  hig  purpose 
well. 

A  small  iron  pot,  without  crook  or  crane,  rested  upon  the  stones  of 
the  furnace ;  and  the  anxious  glances  with  which  the  negro  regarded  its 
simmering  contents — now  stirring  them  a  little,  now  lifting  a  portion  in 
his  wooden  spoon,  and  carefully  scrutinising  it  under  the  light  of  the 
lamp — told  that  the  concoction  in  which  he  was  engaged  was  of  a  chemical 
rather  than  culinary  nature.  As  he  bent  over  the  fire — like  a  he  Hecate 
stirring  her  witch-cauldron — his  earnest  yet  stealthy  manner,  his  cat-like 
movements  and  furtive  glances,  betrayed  some  devilish  design. 

This  idea  was  strenghtened  on  looking  at  the  objects  that  lay  near  to 
his  hand — a  portion  of  which  had  been  already  consigned  to  the  pot.  A 
cutacoo  rested  upon  the  floor,  containing  plants  of  several  species; 
among  which  a  botanist  could  have  recognised  the  branched  cafalue,  the 
dumb-cane,  and  various  other  herbs  and  roots  of  noxious  fame.  Con- 
spicuous was  the  "  Savanna  flower,"  with  its  tortuous  stem  and  golden 
corolla — a  true  dog-bane,  and  one  of  the  most  potent  of  vegetable  poison* 

By  its  side  could  be  seen  its  antidote — the  curious  irats  of  th« 
"nhandiroba:"*  for  the  myal-man  could  cure  as  well  as  kill,  whenever  it 
became  his  interest  to  do  so. 

Drawing  from  such  a  larder,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  engaged  ii 
the  preparation  of  his  supper.  Poisons,  not  provisions,  were  th* 
ingredients  of  the  pot. 

The  specific  he  was  now  concocting  was  from  various  sources,  bui 
chiefly  from  the  sap  of  the  Savanna  flower.  It  was  the  death-spell  if 
Obeah! 

For  whonc  was  the  Coromantee  preparing  this  precious  hell-broth  ! 


•FeittU*  %'^diXoUa. 


r 


219 

His  muttorings,  as  he  stooped  over  the  pot,  revealed  the  Lame  of  hii 
Intended  victim. 

"  You  may  be  'trong,  Cussus  Vaugh'n — dat  I  doan  deny  ;  but,  by  de 
power  ob  Obeah,  you  soon  shake  in  you  shoe.  Obeah!  Ha!  ha!  hal 
i)at  do  fo'  de  know-nuffin  niggas.  My  Obeah  am  de  Sabana  flower,  de 
branch  calalue,  and  de  allimgator  apple — dems  de  'pell  mo*  powerful  dan 
Obi  himself — denya  de  stuff  dat  gib  de  shibberin'  body  and  de  staggerin' 
limbs  to  de  enemies  ob  dis  here  child.  Whugh !" 

Once  more  dipping  the  spoon  into  the  pot,  and  skimming  up  a  portion 
of  the  boiling  liquid,  he  bent  forward  to  examine  it. 

"  T  am  done  1"  he  exclaimed.  "Jess  de  right  colour — jess  de  right 
lickness.  Now  fo'  bottle  de  licka !" 

Saying  this,  he  took  the  pot  from  the  fire  ;  and,  after  first  pouring  Ihe 
"  liquor"  into  a  calabash,  and  leaving  it  for  some  moments  to  cool,  he 
transferred  it  to  the  rum-bottle — long  since  emptied  of  its  original  con- 
tents. 

Having  carefully  pressed  in  the  cork,  he  set  the  bottle  to  one  side — not 
in  concealment,  but  as  if  intended  for  use  at  no  very  distant  time. 

Then,  having  gathered  up  his  scattered  pharmacopaeia,  and  deposited 
the  whole  collection  in  the  cutacoo.  he  stepped  into  the  doorway  of  the 
hut,  and,  placing  a  hand  on  each  post,  stood  in  an  attitude  to  listen. 

It  was  evident  he  expected  some  visitor  ;  and  who  it  was  to  be  was 
revealed  by  the  muttered  soliloquy  in  which  he  continued  to  indulge 
The  slave  Cynthia  was  to  give  him  another  '  seance.' 

"  Time  dat  yella  wench  wa'  come.  Muss  be  nigh  twelve  ob  de  night 
Maybe  she  hab  call,  an'  a  no  hear  her,  fo'  de  noise  ob  dat  catrack  ?  A 
bess  go  down  b'low.  Like  naf  a  find  her  da !" 

As  he  was  stepping  across  the  threshold  to  put  this  design  into  execu 
tion,  a  cry,  uttered  in  the  shrill  treble  of  a  woman's  voice,  and  just 
audible  through  the  soughing  sound  from  the  cataract,  came  from  the 
cliff  above. 

"  Da's  de  wench !"  muttered  the  myal-man,  as  be  heard  it.  "  A  make 
sartinrShor  she'd  come.  Lub  lead  woman  troo  fire  an'  water — lead  urn  to 
de  de^bil.  Seed  de  time  dat  ar'  yella'  gal  temp'  dis  chile.  No  care  now. 
But  one  Chakra  ebber  care  'brace  in  dese  arms.  Her  he  clasp  only  01*00, 
he  content — he  willin' den  fo1  die.  Augh!" 

As  the  Coromantee  uttered  the  impassioned  ejaculation,  he  strode  cut 
ward  from  the  door,  and  walked  with  nervous  and  hurried  step — like  one 
urged  on  by  the  prospect  of  soon  achieving  some  horrible  but  heartfelt 
purpose,  he  had  long  contemplated  from  a  distance. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

TUB  INVOCATION   OP  ACCOMPONGU 

THI  canoe  soon  made  its  trip,  and  returned  with  Cynthia  seated  in  the 
jtern.     She  carried  a  basket  on  her  arm  as  before,  filled  with  comestibles, 
and  not  forgetting  the  precious  bottle  of  rum. 
As  before,  she  followed  the  myal-man  to  his  hat — this  time  entering 


oi? 

with  more  confidence,  and  sooting  herself  unbidden  upon  the  side  of  th« 
bamboo  bedstead. 

Still  was  she  not  without  some  feeling  of  fear  :  as  testified  by  a  slight 
trembling  that  might  be  observed  when  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  freshly- 
filled  bottle,  that  stood  in  a  conspicuous  place.  The  look  which  sho 
turned  upon  it  told  that  she  possessed  some  previous  information  as  to 
the  nature  of  ita  contents — or  perhaps  she  had  only  a  suspicion. 

"  Da's  de  bottle  fo'  you,"  said  the  myal-man,  noticing  her  glance,  "  and 
j  iis  hya,"  continued  he,  drawing  the  other  out  of  Cynthia's  basket,  "  dit 
'  ay  a  am  d«  one  fo' " 

He  was  about  to  add  "  me,"  but  before  he  could  pass  the  word  out  of 
his  mouth,  he  had  got  the  neck  of  the  rum-bottle  into  it ;  and  the  "gluck- 
gluck"  of  the  descending  fluid  was  substituted  for  the  personal  pronoun. 

The  usuj»l  "  Whugh"  wound  up  the  operation,  clearing  the  Coroman- 
tee's  throaf  ;  and  then  by  a  gesture  he  gave  Cynthia  to  understand  that 
he  was  ready  to  proceed  with  the  more  serious  business  of  the  interview. 

"  Dat  bottle,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  one  that  contained  his  decoction, 
"  am  de  OHeah  'pell.  It  make  Cubina  lub  you  while  dar's  a  tuff  ob  wool 
on  de  top  o'  'im  head.  Dat  long  'nuf,  I  reck'n  :  fo'  when  'im  go  bald,  you 
PO  care  m9  'im  lub." 

"  Is  tb  it  the  love-spell  you  spoke  of  ?"  inquired  the  mulatto,  with  an 
ambigu  >us  expression  of  countenance,  in  which  hope  appeared  struggling 
with  doubt. 

"  De  lub-spell  ?  No — not  'zackly  dat  De  lub-spell  am  different.  U 
am  ob  de  nature  ob  an  ointment.  Hya  I  I'se  got  'im  in  de  coco-shell." 

As  Chakra  said  this,  he  raised  his  hand  and  drew  out  from  a  cranny  in 
the  thatch,  about  three-quarters  of  the  shell  of  a  cocoa-nut ;  inside  which, 
instead  of  its  white  coagulum,  appeared  a  carrol>coloured  paste,  resemb- 
ling the  pulp  of  the  sapata-mammee — for  this,  in  reality,  it  was. 

"  Das  da  lub  mixture  1"  continued  the  obeah-man,  in  a  triumphant  tone ; 
"  das  for  Cubina  1" 

"  Ah  1  Cubina  is  to  take  that?" 

"  Shoo  he  am.  He  mus'  take  'im.  A  gib  it  him,  and  den  he  go  mad 
for  you.  You  he  lub,  an'  he  lub  you  like  two  turtle  dove  in  de  'pring 
time.  Whugh  1" 

"  Good  Chakra — you  are  sure  it  will  do  Cubina  no  harm  ?" 

The  query  proved  that  the  jealousy  of  the  mulatta  had  not  yet  reached 
•he  point  cf  revenge. 

u  No,"  responded  the  negro ;  "  do  'im  good— do  'im  good,  an  nuffin  else* 
Xow,  Cynthy,  gal,"  continued  he,  turning  his  eyes  upon  the  bottle  ;  "  daa 
for  de  ole  Cussos  ob  Moun'  Welc'm — take  um — put  'im  in  you  basket," 

The  woman  obeyed ;  though  her  fingers  trembled,  as  she  touched  th« 
bottle  that  contained  the  mysterious  medicine. 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  with  it,  Chakra  ?"  she  asked,  irresolutely. 

"  Wha  you  do  ?  I  tole  you  arready  wha  you  do.  You  gib  to  Mas*r— - 
you  enemy  and  my  en." 

"But  what  is  it?" 

"  Why  you  ask  daat  ?    I  tole  yon  H  am  de  death-'pell." 

"  Oh,  Chukra!  is  it  poison  ?" 

*  No,  you  foo' — ef  'twa  pizen,  den  it  kill  de  buckra  right  off.  It  no  kill 
1m.  It  only  make  um  sick,  an'  den,  preehap,  it  make  'im  die.  DM  no 
I  You  'fuse  give  im  ?M 


TH*  INVOCATION  OF  AOCOMPOHO. 

The  woman  appeared  to  hesitate,  as  if  some  sparks  of  a  better  nature 
were  rising  within  her  soul.  If  there  were  such  sparks,  only  for  a  short 
while  were  they  allowed  to  shine. 

"  You  'fuse  gib  'im  ?*'  repeated  the  tempter,  hastening  to  extinguish 
them.  "  If  you  'fuse,  I  no  put  de  lub-spell  on  Cubina.  •  Mor'n  dat — I  set 
de  obeah  fo'  you — you,  yauseff  1" 

M0  no — no,Chakra!"  cried  she,  cowering  before  the  Coromantee ;  "I  <k 
not  refuse — I  shall  give  it — anything  you  command  me." 

u  Deie,  now — das  sensible  ob  you,  Cynthy.    Now  I  gib  you  do  iuAtruL 
shin  how  fo'  minister  de  'pell.    Lissen,  an'  'member  ebbery  ting  I  g  i 
"peak  you."  » 

As  the  hideous  sorcerer  said  this,  he  sat  down  in  front  of  his  neophyte 
—fixing  his  eyes  upon  hers,  as  if  the  better  to  impress  his  words  upon 
her  memory. 

"  Fuss  an'  formoss,  den,  de  grand  buckra  ob  Moun'  Welcome,  ebbery 
night  'fore  he  go  bed,hab  glass  ob  rum  punch.  I  know  he  used  hab— ha 
BO  'till,  eh?" 

"  Yes — he  does/'.mechanicaUy  answered  the  mulatta. 

"  Berry  likely — dat  ere  am  one  ob  de  habits  neider  buckra  nor  brack 
man  am  like  break  off.  Ebbery  night,  shoo  ?" 

"  Yes — every  night — one  glass — sometimes  two." 

44  Gorry  I  ef  twa  me,  me  hab  two — not  sometime,  but  alway — 'cept  when 
a  make  um  tree,  ha!  ha!  Berry  well,  das  all  right ;  and  now,  gal,  who 
mix  de  punch  fo'  'im  ?  You  use  do  dat  youseff,  Cynthy  ?" 

"  It  is  still  my  business.    I  make  it  for  him  every  night." 

"  Good — das  jess  de  ting.  Whugh  1  now  we  know  how  set  de  'pell  ob 
de  obeah.  You  see  dis  yeer  ?  It  am  de  claw  ob  de  mountain  crab.  You 
tee  de  'cratch— dar — inside  ob  de  machine  1  Well — up  to  dat  mark  it 
hold  jess  de  'zack  quantum.  Ebbery  night  you  make  de  punch  you  fill 
up  dar  out  ob  dis  bottle.  You  pour  in  de  glass — fuss  de  sugar  an'  lemon 
-—den  de  water — den  de  rum,  which  am  'tronger  dan  de  water  out  ob  dig 
bottle ;  an'  affer  dat  the  'pell,  which  am  de  'trongest  ob  dem  all.  You 
'member  all  a  hab  tell  you  ?" 

"  I  shall  remember  it,"  rejoined  the  woman,  with  a  firmness  of  voice, 
partly  assumed — for  she  dreaded  to  show  any  sign  of  irresolution. 

"  Ef  you  no  do,  den  de  'pell  turn  roun'  an'  he  work  'gin  youseff.  Whoi) 
de  Obi  once  'gins,  he  no  'top  till  he  hab  'im  victim.  Now  a  go  fo  *voke 
fie  god  Accompong.  He  come  when  Chakra  call.  He  make  'im  'pearance 
in  dc  foam  ob  de  catrack  out  yonna.  After  dat  no  mortal  him  lay  not  ul: 
one  die  fo'  de  oacrafize.  You  'tay  in  hya.  De  god  muss  not  see  no 
tfomaw — you  listen — you  hear  um  voice." 

Rising  with  a  mysterious  air,  and  taking  down  from  ita  peg  an  old 
palm-leaf  wallet,  that  appeared  to  contain  some  heavy  article,  the  myal- 
man  stepped  out  of  the  hut,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  les£— as  he  in- 
formed the  raulatta,  in  scito  voce — tae  god  might  set  his  eyes  on  her,  and 
get  into  a  rage. 

Cynthia  seemed  'x>  consider  the  precaution  scarce  sufficient ;  for,  the 
moment  the  door  was  closed,  in  order  to  make  herself  still  more  secure 
against  being  seen,  she  glided  up  to  the  light  and  extinguished  it.  Then 
groping  her  way  back  to  the  b  adstesvl  she  staggered  down  upon  it,  and 
t»t  nhivering  with  apprehension. 


222 


THE   INVOCATION   OF   ACCOMPOffG. 


As  the  myal-man  had  enjoined  upon  her,  she  listened  ;  and,  as  he  nad 
promised  her,  she  heard — if  not  the  voice  of  Accompong — sounds  that 
were  worthy  of  having  proceeded  from  the  throat  of  that  Ethiopian 
divinity, 

At  first  a  voice  reached  her  which  she  knew,  to  be  human:  since  it  was 

the  voice  of  Chakra  himself.     It  was  uttered,  nevertheless,  in  strange  and 

unnatural  tones,  that  at  each  moment  kept  changing.     Now  it  came  ring. 

ing  through  the  interstices  of  the  bamboos,  in  a  kind  of  long-drawn  song, 

?  iH  if  the  myal-man  was  initiating  his  ceremonies  with  the  verse  of  a 

*  psalm.     Then  the  chaunt  became  quicker,  by  a  sort  of  crescendo  move- 
ment, and  the  song  appeared  transformed  to  a  recitative.    Next  were 
heard  sounds  of  a  very  different  intonation,  now  resembling  the  shrill, 
harsh  c^l  of  a  cowhorn,  or  conch-shell,  and  gradually  dying  off  into  a 
prolonged  bass,  like  the  groaning  of  a  cracked  trombone. 

After  this  had  continued  for  some  time,  there  ensued  a  dialogue — in 
which  the  listener  could  recognise  only  one  of  the  voices  as  that  of 
Chakra. 

-  Whose  could  be  the  other  ?    It  could  only  be  that  of  Accompong.  The 
god  was  upon  the  ground  ! 

Cynthia  trembled  as  she  thought  how  very  near  he  was.  How  lucky 
she  had  blown  out  the  light !  If  still  burning,  she  must  have  been  seen  ; 
for  both  Chakra  and  the  deity  were  just  outside  the  door,  and  so  near 
that  she  could  not  only  hear  their  voices  with  distinctness,  but  the  very 
words  that  were  spoken. 

Some  of  the«e  were  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  she  could  not  under- 
stand them.  Others  were  in  English,  or  rather  its  synonym  in  the  form 
of  a  negro  patois.  These  last  she  comprehended  ;  and  their  signification 
was  not  of  such  a  character  to  give  solace  to  her  thoughts,  but  the  con- 
trary. 

Chakra  chantant: — 

«« Open  de  bottle— draw  de  oorjc, 
De  'pell  he  work— de  'pell  he  work ; 
De  buokra  man  muss  die  I" 

tlMusi  die!"  repeated  Accompong,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  as  if  from 
tb  »  interior  of  an  empty  hogshead. 

"  De  yella  gal  she  gib  'fan  drink ; 
It  make  'im  sick— it  make  'im  Brink. 

•  It  send  'im  to  'im  tomb." 

*  Him  tomb  *  came  the  response  of  Accompong. 

"  An'  If  de  yella  gal  refuse, 
She  'top  into  de  buekra's  shoes, 
An1  nil  de  buckra'a  grave," 

"  Buckra's  grave!"  echoed  the  African  god,  in  a  sonorous  and  emphatic 
Toice,  that  told  there  was  no  alternative  to  the  hypothetical  fate  thus  pro- 
claimed. 

There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence,  and  then  the  shrill,  conch-lik* 
was  again  heard — as  before,  followed  by  the  long-drawn  bans. 


CHAKBA,   REDIVI7US.  223 

This  was  the  exorcism  of  tho  god — as  the  same  sounds,  previously 
heard,  had  been  his  invocation. 

It  was  also  the  Jlnale  of  tho  ceremony :  since  the  moment  after  Chakra 
pushed  open  the  door,  and  stood  in  the  entrance  to  the  hut. 

"  Cynthy,.  gal,"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  mysterious  gravity,  "  why  you 
blow  out  de  light?  But  no  matter  for  light.  Its  all  oba.  Did  you  beai 


•J 3  god  'peak?" 


I  did,"  murmured  the  mulatta,  still  trembling  at  what  she  had  heard* 

"  You  hear  wha  him  say  ?** 

"Yes— yes." 

"  Den  he  'peak  de  troof.  Nuffin  more'n  dat.  You  take  heed — I  'vise 
fou,  as  you  friend.  You  go  troo  wif  de  'pell  now  'im  'gun,  else  you 
life  not  worth  so  much  trash  ob  de  suga-cane.  A  say  no  more.  Ebbery 
night,  in  um  fuss  glass,  de  full  ob  de  crab-claw,  up  to  de  mark.  Now,  gal, 
come  'long." 

The  last  command  was  the  more  readily  obeyed  :  since  the  woman  was 
but  too  glad  to  get  away  from  a  place  whose  terrors  had  so  severely 
tested  her  courage. 

Taking  up  the  basket — in  which  the  bottle  containing  the  dangerous 
decoction  had  been  already  placed — she  glided  out  of  the  hut,  and  once 
more  followed  the  Coromatitee  to  his  canoe. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

CHAKRA    REDIVIVUS. 

THE  scene  that  had  thus  transpired  in  the  depths  of  the  Duppy's  Hole 
requires  some  explanation.  The  dialogue  which  Cynthia  had  held  with 
the  hideous  Coromantee,  though  couched  in  ambiguous  phrase,  clearly  in' 
dicated  an  intention  to  assassinate  the  Gustos  Vaughan  ;  and  by  a  mode 
which  these  arch-conspirators  figuratively — almost  facetiously  —  termed 
the  death-spell ! 

•  In  the  diabolical  design,  the  woman  appeared  to  be  acting  rather  as 
coadjutor  than  conspirator ;  and  her  motive  for  taking  part  in  the  plot, 
though  wicked  enough,  presents,  in  the  language  of  French  law,  one  or 
'wo  '*  extenuating  circumstances." 

A  word  or  two  of  the  mulatta's  history  will  make  her  motive  under- 
stood, though  her  conversation  may  have  already  declared  it  with  suffi- 
cient distinctness. 

Cynthia  was  a  slave  on  the  plantation  of  Mount  Welcome — one  of  the 
house-wenches,  or  domestics  belonging  to  the  mansion  ;  and  of  which^  in 
a  large  establishment  like  that  of  Gustos  Vaughan,  there  is  usually  a 
numerous  troop. 

The  girl,  in  earlier  life,  had  been  gifted  with  good  looks.  Nor  eoulJ 
it  be  said  that  they  were  yet  gone ;  though  hers  was  a  beauty  that  no 
longer  presented  the  charm  of  innocent  girlhood,  but  rather  the  sensualis- 
tic  attractions  of  a  bold  and  abandoned  woman. 

Had  Cynthia  been  other  than  a  slave— *hat  is,  had  she  lived  in 


224  CHAKRA.  BEDIVimS. 

lands — her  story  might  have  been  different.  But  in  that,  her  nativ« 
country — and  under  conditions  of  bondage  that  extended  alike  to  body 
and  soul — her  fair  looks  had  proved  only  a  fatal  gift. 

With  no  motive  to  tread  the  paths  of  virtue — with  a  thousand  tempta- 
tions to  stray  from  it — Cynthia,  like,  it  is  sad  to  think,  too  many  of  her 
race,  had  wandered  into  ways  of  wantonness.  It  might  bo,  as  Chakra 
had  obscurely  hinted,  that  the  slave  had  been  abused.  Wherever  lay 
the  blame,  she  had,  at  all  events,  become  abandoned. 

Whether  loving  them  or  not,  Cynthia  had,  in  her  time,  been  honoured , 
with  more  than  one  admirer.    But  there  was  one  on  whom  she  had  aft 
length  fixed  her  affections — or,  more  properly,  her  passion — to  a  degree  J 
of  permanence  that  promised  to  end  only  with  her  life.    The  one  waa  the 
young  Maroon  captain,  Cubina ;  and  although  it  was  a  love  of  compara- 
tively recent  origin,  it  had  already  reached  the  extreme  of  passion.    So 
fierce  and  reckless  had  it  grown,  on  the  part  of  the  wretched  woman,  that 
she  was  ready  for  anything  that  promised  to  procure  her  its  requital — 
ready  even  for  the  nefarious  purpose  of  Chakra. 

To  do  Cubina  justice,  this  love  of  the  slave  Cynthia  was  not  recipro- 
cated. To  the  levities  and  light  speeches  habitually  indulged  in  by  tho 
Maroons,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  plantation  people,  Cubina  was  a 
singular  exception ;  and  Cynthia's  statement  that  he  had  once  returned 
her  love — somewhat  doubtingly  delivered — had  no  other  foundation  than 
her  own  groundless  conjectures,  in  which  the  wish  was  father  to  the 
thought. 

Some  friendly  words  may  have  passed  between  the  Maroon  and 
mulatta — for  they  had  often  met  upon  their  mutual  wanderings ;  but  tha 
latter,  in  mistaking  them  from  words  of  love,  had,  sadly  for  herself,  mis- 
conceived their  meaning. 

Of  late  her  passion  had  become  fiercer  than  eTer — since  jealousy 
had  arisen  to  stimulate  it — jealousy  of  Cubina  with  Tola.  The  meeting 
and  subsequent  correspondence  of  the  Maroon  with  the  Foolah  maiden 
were  events  of  still  more  recent  date  ;  but  already  had  Cynthia  seen  or 
heard  enough  to  produce  the  conviction  that  in  Tola  she  had  found  a 
rival.  With  the  passionate  '  sang-melee',  jealousy  pointed  to  revenge ; 
and  she  had  begun  to  indulge  in  dark  projects  of  this  nature  when  Chakra 
chanced  to  throw  his  shadow  across  her  path. 

Cynthia  was  one  of  those  slaves  known  as  night-dangers.    She  was  in 
the  habit  of  making  occasional  and  nocturnal  excursions  through  th* 
woods,  for  many  purposes ;  but,  of  late,  principally  in  the  hope  of  meet  | 
ing  Cubina,  and  satisfying  herself  in  regard  to  suspicion  she  had  con 
ceived  of  meetings  that  occurred  between  him  and  Tola. 

In  one  of  these  expeditions  she  had  encountered  a  man  whose  appear- 
ance filled  her  with  terror ;  and  very  naturally  ;  since  it  was  not  a  ma*\ 
lut  a  ghost  that  she  saw — the  ghost  of  Chakra,  the  myal-man! 

That  it  was  the  "  duppy"  of  old  Chakra,  Cynthia  on  sight  firmly  believed j 
and  might  have  continued  longer  in  that  belief,  had  she  been  permitted 
to  make  her  escape  from  the  spot,  as  she  was  fast  hastening  to  do.  But 
the  long,  ape-like  arms  of  the  myalman,  flung  around  her  on  the  instant, 
restrained  her  flignt — and  she  became  convinced  that  it  was  not  Chakra's 
ghost,  but  Ch,al:~a  himselt,  who  embraced  her ! 


OHAKBA  BEDIVITU8.  225 

It  was  not  altogether  by  chance  this  encounter  had  occurred — at  least, 
on  the  part  of  Chakra.  He  had  been  looking  out  for  Cynthia  for  some 
time  before.  He  wanted  her  for  a  purpose. 

The  mulatta  made  no  revelations  of  what  she  had  seen.  With  all  htt 
ugliness  the  myal-man  had  been  the  friend  of  her  mother — had  often 
dandled  her,  Cynthia,  upon  his  knees.  But  the  tongue  of  Juno's  daughter 
was  held  sileot  by  stronger  ties  than  those  of  affection.  Fear  was  one ; 
and  there  was  also  another.  If  Chakra  wanted  Cynthia  for  a  purpose, 
quick  instinct  told  her  she  might  stand  in  need  of  him.  He  was  just  tht> 
instrument  by  which  to  accomplish  a  revenge. 

On  the  instant,  mulatta  and  myal-man  became  allies. 

This  mutual  confidence  had  been  but  very  recently  established — only  % 
few  days,  or  rather  nights  before  that  on  which  Cynthia  had  given 
Chakra  the  first '  seance'  in  the  temple  of  Obi. 

The  purpose  for  which  the  myal-man  wanted  the  mulatta — or  one  pur- 
pose, at  least — has  been  sufficiently  set  forth  in  the  dialogues  occurring 
between  them.  He  required  her  assistance  to  put  the  death-spell  upon 
the  planter,  Loftus  Vaughan.  The  character  of  Cynthia,  which  Chakra 
well  understood — with  the  opportunities  she  had,  in  her  capacity  of 
housemaid — promised  to  provide  the  assassin  with  an  agency  of  the  most 
effective  kind ;  and  the  pretended  love-spell  he  was  to  put  upon  Cubina 
had  given  Chakra  a  talisman,  by  which  his  agent  was  but  too  easily  in- 
duced to  undertake  the  execution  of  his  diabolical  design. 

Among  many  other  performances  of  a  like  kind,  it  was  part  of  Chakra's 
programme,  some  day  or  other ;  to  put  the  death-spell  upon  the  Maroon 
himself ;  to  "  obeah"  young  Cubina — as  it  was  suspected  he  had  the  old 
Cubina,  the  father,  after  twenty  years  of  tentation.  It  was  but  the  want 
of  opportunity  that  had  hindered  him  from  having  long  before  accom- 
plished his  nefarious  project  upon  the  son,  as  upon  the  father — in  satisfac- 
tion of  a  revenge,  so  old  as  to  be  anterior  to  the  birth  of  Cubina  him- 
self, thought  associated  with  that  event. 

Of  course,  this  design  was  not  revealed  to  Cynthia. 

His  motive  for  conspiring  the  death  of  Loftus  Vaughan  was  without 
any  mystery  whatever ;  and  this — perhaps  more  than  any  other  of  his 
crimes,  either  purposed  or  committed — might  plead  "  extenuating  circum- 
stances." His  cruel  condemnation,  and  subsequent  exposure  upon  the 
Gumbe  Rock,  was  a  stimulus  sufficient  to  have  excited  to  revenge  a 
gentler  nature  than  that  of  Chakra,  the  Coromantee.  It  need  scarce  be 
said  that  it  had  stimulated  his  to  the  deadliest  degree. 

The  resurrection  of  tjie  myal-man  may  appear  a  mystery — as  it  did  to 
the  slave,  Cynthia.  There  was  one  individual,  however,  who  understood 
its  character.  Not  to  an  African  god  was  the  priest  of  Obi  indebted  for 
his  resuscitation,  but  to  an  Israelitish  man — to  Jacob  Jessuron. 

It  was  but  a  simple  trick — that  of  substituting  a  carcase — afterwards 
to  become  a  skeleton — for  the  presumed  dead  body  of  the  myal-man. 
The  baracoon  of  the  slave-merchant  generally  had  such  a  commodity  in 
stock.  If  not,  Jessuron  would  not  have  scrupled  to  create  one  for  the 
occasion. 

Humanity  had  nothing  to  do  in  the  supplying  of  this  proxy.  Had 
there  been  no  other  motive  than  that  to  actuate  the  Jew,  Cbjtkra,  aoigM 
have  roUe4  under  the  B.MQW  of  the  cabbage-pain), 


226  MIDNIGHT   WANDERERS. 

But  Josauron  had  his  purpose  for  saving  the  life  of  the  condemned 
criminal — more  than  6110,  perhaps — and  he  had  saved  it, 

Since  hib  iwurrectivn,  Chakra  had  pursued  his  iniquitoua  catting  wrth 
even  more  energy  than  of  old  ;  but  now  in  the  most  secret  and  surrepti- 
tious manner. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  re-establishing  a  system  of  confederates — un- 
doi  the  auspices  of  a  new  name — but  only  of  sight,  and  with  disguised 
form  and  masked  face,  did  he  give  his  clients  rendezvous.  Never  :n  tie 
Uuppy's  Hole,  for  few  were  sufficiently  initiated  into  the  mysteries  ol 
Jiyalism,  to  be  introduced  to  its  temple  in  that  secure  retreat. 

Although  the  confederates  of  the  obeah-man  rarely  reveal  the  secret  ol 
his  whereabouts — even  his  poor  victims  dreading  to  divulge  it — Ghakra 
knew  the  necessity  of  keeping  as  much  as  possible  en-perdu ;  and  no  out- 
law with  halter  threatening  his  neck,  could  have  been  more  cautious  in 
his  outgoings  and  incomings. 

He  knew  that  his  life  was  forfeit  on  the  old  judgment ;  and,  though  he 
had  once  escaped  execution,  he  might  not  be  so  fortunate  upon  a, 
second  occasion.  If  recaptured,  some  surer  mode  of  death  would  be 
provided — a  rope  instead  of  a  chain  ;  and  in  place  of  being  fastened  to 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  he  would  be  pretty  certain  of  being  suspended  by 
the  neck  to  the  branch  of  one. 

Knowing  all  this,  Chakra  redivivus  trod  the  forest  paths  with  caution, 
and  was  especially  shy  of  the  plantation  of  Mount  Welcome.  Around 
the  sides  of  the  mountain  lie  had  little  to  fear.  The  reputation  of  the 
Jumbe  Rock,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Duppy's  Hole,  kept  the  proximity  of 
these  noted  places  clear  of  all  dark-skinned  stragglers  ;  and  there  Chakra 
had  the  beat  to  himself. 

Upon  dark  nights,  however,  like  the  wolf,  ho  could  prowl  at  pleasure, 
and  with  comparative  safety— especially  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  more 
remote  plantations ;  the  little  intercourse  allowed  between  the  slaves  of, 
distant  estates  making  acquaintanceship  among  them  a  rare  exception. 
It  was  chiefly  upon  these  distant  estates  that  Chakra  held  communications 
with  his  confederates  and  clients. 

It  w?s  now  more  than  a  year  since  he  had  made  his  pretended  resur- 
ructioD  ;  and  yet  so  cautiously  had  he  crawled  about,  that  only  a  few  in 
dividn?.j8  were  aware  of  the  fact  of  his  being  still  alive.  Others  had 
MT»  his  ghost !  Several  negroes  of  Mount  Welcome  plantation  would 
have  sworn  to  having  met  the  "  duppy"  of  old  Chakra,  while  travelling 
through  the  woods  at  night ;  and  the  sight  had  tured  these  writaegaes  of 
then*  propensity  for  nocturnal  wandering. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

MIDNIGHT     WANDERERS 

Ovci  more  under  the  ceiba,  that  gigantic  trysting-tree,  stood  the  Maroon 
and  his  mistress.  Not,  as  before,  in  the  bright  noonday  sun,  but  near  th« 
midhour  of  the  night.  The  Foolah  ha4  dared  the  dangers  of  the  forest 
fc>  meet  her  b©]oy§d  Cubiua, 


MIDNIGHT   WANDERERS.  227 

An  '  ;here  were  dangers  in  that  forest,  more  to  bo  dreaded  than  fierce 
beasts  or  ravenous  reptiles — more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  tusks  of  the 
wild  boar,  or  the  teeth  of  the  scaly  alligator.  There  were  monsters  in 
human  form  far  more  fearful  to  be  encountered  ;  and  at  that  moment  not 
very  distant  from  the  spot  where  the  lovers  had  made  their  rendezvous. 

Love  recks  little  of-  dangers.  Cubina  knew  of  none;  and, in  Tola's 
belief,  there  was  no  danger  while  Cubina  was  near. 

Tlio  moon  was  in  high  heaven,  full,  calm,  and  clear.  Her  beams  filled 
the  glade  with  a  silvery  effulgence.  It  was  a  moonlight  that  almost  rival- 
led the  brightness  of  day.  The  flowers  over  the  earth,  and  the  blossoms 
upon  the  trees,  appeared  full  blown :  as  if  they  had  opened  their  petals 
to  drink  in  the  delightful  dew.  B  _>rne  upon  the  soft  silent  breeze,  the 
nocturnal  sounds  of  the  forest  fell  with  a  tremulous  cadence  upon  the 
ear  ;  while  the  nightingale  of  the  West,  as  if  proud  of  the  superiority  of 
her  counterfeit  notes,  in  turns  imitated  them  all. 

The  lovers  stood  in  shadow — but  it  was  the  shadow  of  the  ctiba 
There  was  none  in  their  hearts  ;  and  had  the  moonlight  at  that  moment 
fallen  upon  their  faces  no  trace  of  a  cloud  could  have  been  detected 
there. 

It  was  a  happy  meeting — one  of  the  happiest  they  had  yet  enjoyed. 
Each  had  brought  good  news  to  the  other.  Cubina,  that  the  brother  of 
his  beloved  was  still  safe  under  his  protection — safe  and  well  ;  Tola, 
that  her  young  mistress  had  promised  to  bestow  upon  her  her  freedom. 

Within  the  few  days  since  they  had  last  met,  many  things  had  transpir- 
ed to  interest  both.  Each  had  a  tale  to  tell. 

Tola  related  now  the  story  of  her  brother's  misfortunes,  though  strictly 
kept  from  the  servants  at  Mount  Welcome,  had  become  known  to  her 
mistress  ;  how  Miss  Vaughan,  on  hearing  it,  had  requested  her  father  to 
grant  her  (Tola's)  manumission  ;  and  how  the  Gustos  had  consented  to 
the  request.  Conditionally,  it  was  true.  Her  "  free  papers"  were  to  be 
dated  from  a  certain  day — that  on  which  her  young  mistress  was  to  be- 
come a  bride,  but  that  day  was  supposed  not  to  be  far  distant. 

It  was  joyous  news  for  the  Maroon.  He  might  keep  his  hundred 
pounds  for  the  plenishing  of  his  mountain  home  1 

This  piece  of  intelligence  might  have  taken  Cubina  more  by  surprise, 
but  for  the  understanding  that  now  existed  between  him  and  the  Gustos 
— whom  he.  had  of  late  frequently  visited.  Certain  conditions  had  become 
tistublished  between  the  magistrate  and  the  Maroon,  which  rendered  the 
latter  less  apprehensive  about  the  future.  Mr.  Vaughan  had  made  some 
promises  to  himself  in  regard  to  the  manumission  of  Tola.  It  is  true, 
these  had  also  been  conditional ;  and  their  performance  was  to  depend, 
lo  a  great  degree,  on  the  success  of  the  prosecution  to  be  instituted 
against  the  Jew.  But,  with  the  Gustos  himself  as  a  prosecutor,  Cubina 
felt  sanguine  that  the  conditions  would  be  accomplished. 

There  were  circumstances  to  be  kept  secret.  Even  to  his  sweetheart 
the  lover  was  not  permitted  to  impart  the  knowledge  of  the  affair.  Only 
did  he  make  known  to  her  that  steps  were  being  taken  to  cause  the  resti- 
tution of  her  brother's  property  ;  but  how,  where,  and  when,  could  not 
be  divulged  until  that  day  when  war  should  be  openly  declared  against 
the  enemy.  So  Uu4  tlit  Gustos  commanded. 


228  MIDNIGHT   WAtfDEKERfl. 

Cubiua.  nevertheless,  could  not  holp  bcin^  gratified  by  the  the  mtelli« 
gence  which  Tola  had  conveyed  to  him.  The  promise  of  Miss  Vuughao 
had  but  one  condition — her  bridal  day ;  and  that  was  definite  and  certain. 

"  Ah  1"  said  Cubiua,  turning  with  a  proud  look  towards  his  sweetheart, 
"  it  will  be  a  happy  day  for  all.  No,  not  for  all,"  added  he,  his  face  eud 
denly  assuming  an  expression  of  sadness  ;  "  not  for  all.  There  ie  one,  I 
fear,  to  whom  that  day  will  not  bring  happiness  !' ' 

"I  know  one,  too, Cubina,"  rejoined  the  girl,  her  countenance  appear* 
ag  to  reflect  the  expression  that  had  come  over  his. 

"  Oh,  you  know  it,  too  ?  Miss  Vaughan  has  told  you  then,  I  suppOM  T 
I  hope  she  does  not  boast  of  it?" 

"  What  she  boast,  Cubina?" 

"Why,  of  breaking  his  heart,  as  you  would  do  mine,  if  you  were  to 
marry  somebody  else.  Poor  young  fellow!  Crambo!  If  I'm  not  mistaken, 
it  will  be  a  sad  day  for  him !" 

The  girl  looked  up  in  puzzled  surprise ! 

"Sad  day  for  him!  No,  Cubina;  he  very  happy.  For  her — poor 
missa — that  day  be  sad." 

"  Vayate  !    What  do  you  mean,  Tola  ?" 

"  No  more  dan  I  say,  Cubina.  Missa  Kate  be  very  sorrow  that  day  sne 
marry  Mr.  Mongew — she  very  sorrow  now. " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Cubina,  suddenly  placing  himself  in  an  attitude  of 
unusual  attention;  "  do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  Miss  Vaughan  don't 
wish  to  marry  this  Mr.  Smythje  ?" 

"  She  no  love  him,  Cubina.    Why  she  wish  marry  him,  then  ?" 

"  Ha !"  significantly  ejaculated  the  Maroon,  while  an  expression  of  joy 
seemed  to  steal  over  his  countenance  ;  "  what  makes  you  think  she  don't 
love  him  ?  Have  you  a  reason,  Yola  ?" 

"  Missa  me  say  so ;  she  me  tell  everything,  Cubina." 

"You  are  sure  she  has  said  that  she  don't  love  him  ?" 

"  She  laugh  at  him — she  no  care  for  him.  Girl  no  love  one  she  laugh  at 
— never." 

"  Vaya  !  I  hope  you  will  never  laugh  at  me,  then!  But  say,  dearest ; 
do  you  know  why  she  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Smythje  ?" 

"Massa  her  make  inarry.  He  Mr.  Mongew  very,  very  rich — he  great 
planter.  That  why  she  him  go  marry." 

"  Ho? — he  !"  thoughtfully  ejaculated  the  Captain  of  Maroons.  "  I  su» 
pected  there  was  some  compulsion,"  continued  he,  not  speaking  to  hw 
companion,  but  muttering  the  words  to  himself. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  Yola,"  he  asked,  turning  again  to  his  sweetheart  ; 
"do  you  know  why  your  mistress  does  riot  like  .this  grand  gentleman? 
Has  she  told  you  any  reason  ?" 

"Very  good  reason,  Cubina.  She  another  love  ;  that  why  she  Mongew 
not  like." 

"Ah !  she's  in  love  with  somebody  else  !  Have  you  heard  who  it  it 
Tola?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you  know  him  youself.  He  Missa  Kate's  cousin ;  she  him 
love." 

"  Her  cousin,  Herbert  Vaughan?" 

''Yes,  he  nau>e  Herber';  hy  ygi^e  04190 — nevei  more  come,    NO  Batter, 


MIDNIGHT    WANDERERS. 

•he  V  --'e  him  first  time — she  him  love  ever  more  I  Same  I  }rou.  Cubina  , 
I  yc'i  love  first  time,  all  the  same  for  ever." 

"  You  are  sure  of  all  this  ?"  inquired  Cubina,  in  his  anxiety  to  know- 
more,  resisting  the  temptation  to  reciprocate  the  endearing  speech ;  "you 
are  sure  Miss  Vaughan  loves  her  cousin  Herbert  ?" 

"  Sure,  Cubina  ;  Missa  say  so  many  time.  She  have  very  much  griftf  for 
him.  She  hear  he  marry  one  fine,  bad  lady.  You  know  old  Jew — his 
daughter  he  go  marry." 

•  "  I  have  heard  so,"  rejoined  Cubina,  evidently  keeping  back  from  his 
•weetheart  a  more  definite  knowledge  of  the  subject  which  he  himself  pos- 
sessed ;  "  I  have  heard  so.  After  all,"  he  continued,  speaking  reflectingly, 
"it  might  not  happen — neither  of  these  marriages.  There's  a  proverb, 
Tola,  I've  heard  among  the  white  folks — '  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and 
Hit  lip.1  I  hope  it  won't  be  true  of  you  and  me  ;  but  it  might  come  to  pass 
between  young  Master  Vaughan  and  Miss  Jessuron.  Who  knows?  I  know 
something.  For  Dios  !  you've  given  me  good  news — I  think,  for  some- 
body. But  tell  me,  Tola  ;  have  you  heard  them  say  when  your  mistress 
and  this  great  gentleman  are  to  be  married  ?" 

"Massa  he  say  soon.  He  tell  Miss  Kate  he  go  great  journey.  When 
he  come  back  they  get  marry  ;  he  Missa  Kate  say  so  yesterday." 

"The  Gustos  going  a  journey  ?    Have  you  heard  where  ?" 

"Spanish  town,  Missa  me  tell — a  great  big  place  far  away." 

"  I  wonder  what  that  can  be  for  ?"  said  Cubina  to  himself,  and  in  a 
conjectural  tone.  "Well,  Yola,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  and  speaking  more 
earnestly,  "listen  to  me.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Vaughan  has  set  out  on  this 
journey,  you  come  to  me.  Perhaps  I  may  have  a  message  for  your  mis- 
tress. Have  you  heard  when  he  intends  to  take  the  road  ?" 

"  He  go  to  morrow  morning." 

"  Ha !  so  soon !  Well,  so  much  the  better  for  us,  and  maybe  for  some* 
body  else.  You  must  meet  me  here  to-morrow  night.  Tell  your  mistress 
it  concerns  herself.  No,  don't  tell  her,"  he  added,  correcting  himself, 
"she  will  let  you  come  without  that  excuse  ;  besides,  it  might  bo  that — 
never  mind !  Come  anyhow.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at  this  same  hour." 

Yola  gave  her  willing  promise  to  keep  an  appointment  so  accordant  to 
her  inclinations. 

For  some  time  longer  the  lovers  conversed,  imparting  to  each  other  the 
ordinary  news  of  life — the  details  of  common  things — to  be  at  length  suc- 
ceeded by  words  only  of  love  of  far  diviner  interest. 

Cubina  swore  eternal  truth — by  the  trees  around — by  the  sky  above — 
Ir  y  the  bright  moon,  and  the  blue  heavens. 

He  had  done  the  same  a  score  of  times ;  and  as  often  had  he  been 
believed.  But  lovers  never  tire  of  such  vows — neither  to  near  or  to  re- 
peat them. 

The  African  maiden  answered  with  promises  of  faithfulness,  alike  free, 
alike  fervent.  She  no  longer  sighed  for  her  far  Gambian  home — no  more 
mournod  the  fate  that  had  torn  her  from  a  court  to  consign  her  to  slavery 

The  dark  hours  of  her  life  seemed  to  have  ended ;  and  her  future,  as 
her  present,  was  fall  of  hope  and  bliss! 

For  more  then  an  hour  did  the  enamoured  pair  indulge  in  tlua  sweet 
converse.  They  were  about  to  close  it  with  a  parting  kiss. 


230  MIDNIGHT  WANDERERS. 

The  Maroon  stood  y^th  his  strong  arms  tenderly  entwined  around  &• 
waist  of  his  mistress,  who  willingly  yelded  to  the  embrace.  Her  slender 
form  under  the  shadow  of  the  ceiba  looked  like  the  statue  of  some  Egyp- 
tian maiden  in  bronze  antique. 

The  adieu  had  been  spoken  more  than  once  ;  but  still  the  lovers  linger- 
ed, as  if  loth  to  give  the  parting  kiss.  There  had  been  more  than  one, 
but  not  that  which  was  to  end  the  interview. 

Ere  their  lips  had  met  to  achieve  it,  the  design  was  interrupted. 
Voices  fell  upon  their  eaj  a,  and  two  forms  appeared  emerging  into  the 
moonlight,  at  the  lower  en  1  of  the  glade,  rapidly  advancing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  ceiba. 

As  if  by  a  common  instinct,  Cubina  and  his  mistress  stepped  silently 
and  simultaneously  back,  i  etiring  together  between  the  buttresses  of  the 
tree.  There  it  was  dark  enough  for  concealment.  Only  an  eye  bent  on 
purposed  scrutiny  could  fc«ave  detected  their  presence. 

The  forms  drew  near.  They  were  those  of  a  man  and  a  woman.  The 
moonlight  shining  filling  on  them,  rendered  them  easy  of  recognition ; 
but  their  voices  had  already  declared  their  identity.  Both  the  intruders 
were  known  to  botk  the  lovers.  They  were  the  Jew  Jessuron  and  the 
slave  Cynthia. 

"  Crambo!"  muttered  the  Maroon,  as  he  saw  who  they  were.  "  What 
on  earth  can  they  be  doing  together  ?  At  this  time  of  the  night,  arid 
here — so  far  away  from  any  house  ?  Maldito  !  some  wicked  errand,  I 
warrant." 

By  this  time  the  brace  of  midnight  strollers  had  got  opposite  to  the 
tree,  and  the  Jew  was  delivering  himself  of  a  speech,  which  was  plainly 
heard  by  those  who  stood  concealed  in  its  shadow. 

"  Now,  Cynthy — goot  wench! — you  hashn't  said  yet  why  he  haah  sent 
for  me  ?  Do  yoush  know  what  it  ish  for  ?" 

"  I  don't,  Mass  Jess'ron,  unless  it  be " 

"  Unlesh  what,  wench  ?" 

"  Somethin'  'bout  the  news  I  took  him  afore  I  come  to  you,  when  I 
went  with  his  basket  of  provisions " 

"  Ah-ah  1  you  took  him  some  newsh — what  newsh,  girl  ?" 

"  Only  that  Massr  Vaugh'n  am  a  goin'  away  in  the  mornin'." 

"  Blesh  my  soul  1"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  suddenly  stopping  in  his  tracks, 
and  turning  towards  the  mulatta  with  a  look  of  troubled  surprise. 
**  Blesh  my  soul  1  You  don't  shay  that,  dosh  you  ?"  I 

"  De>  say  so  at  the  Buff,  Massr  Jess'ron.  Besides,  I  know  m'self  he's  i 
goin'.  I  help  to  pack  up  him  shirts  in  de  trabbelin  valise.  He's  a* 
goin'  a  hossaback." 

" But  where, wench?  where?"  gasped  the  Jew,  in  hurried  and  anxioui 
•peech. 

'-'  Dey  say  to  Tanish  town — odder  side  ob  de  island." 

"  Spanish  town  1  ach !"  cried  the  pennkeeper,  in  a  tone  betokening  that 
the  words  had  conveyed  some  very  unwelcome  intelligence.  "  Spanish 
Town  !  S'help  me,  it  ish !  I  knew  it  1  I  knew  it!  ach  1" 

And,  as  he  repeated  the  aspirated  ejaculation,  he  struck  hie  umbrella 
fiercely  into  the  ground,  ae  if  to  render  more  emphatic  the  chagrin  that 
nad  been  communicated  by  the  answer. 

Only  for  a  few  seconds  did  he  muke  pause  upon  the  spot. 


TUB   SffcOLLEftS. 

"  Come  on !"  cried  he  to  his  companicn,  hurriedly  moving  off  from  the 
tree  ;  "  come  on,  wench !  if  that'sh  the  case,  ash  you  shay,  there'sh  no 
time  to  be  losht — not  a  minute,  s'help  me  1" 

And  with  this  elegant  reflection,  he  ended  the  brief  dialogue,  and  strode 
swiftly  and  silently  onward  across  the  glade — the  woman  following  close 
upon  his  heels. 

"Demonios!"  muttered  the  Maroon,  as  they  went  off.  "That  John 
Crow  and  his  pretty  partner  are  about  some  bad  business,  I  fear  ?  It 
Appears  to  be  the  Gustos  they're  conspiring  against.  Crambo  !  I  wonder 
what  they  are  after  with  him  ?  What  can  the  old  Jew  have  to  do  with 
his  going  to  Spanish  Town  ?  I  must  follow  them,  and  see  if  I  can 
discover.  There  appears  to  be  some  scheme  brewing,  that  bodes  no 
good  to  Mr.  Vaughan.  vV  here  can  they  be  going  at  this  time  of  night  ? 
From  the  Jew's  perm,  instead  of  towards  it !" 

These  interrogative  reflections  the  Maroon  made  to  himself.  Then 
turning  once  more  to  his  sweetheart,  with  a  gesture  that  declared  his  in- 
tention to  be  gone,  he  said: — 

"  We  must  part,  Tola,  and  this  instant,  love,  else  I  may  lose  their  trail 
Adieu  1  adieu !" 

And  with  a  quick  kiss,  and  equally  hurried  embrace,  the  lovera  separ- 
ated—  Tola,  returning  to  Mount  Welcome,  by  a  path  well  known  to  her  , 
while  the  Maroon  glided  off  on  the  track  taken  by  the  pennkeeper  and 
his  female  companion. 


CHAPTER  LXXIH. 

TRACKING  THE   STROLLERS. 

THE  Maroon  was  but  a  few  moments  in  recovering  the  "  spoor"  of  the  two 
nocturnal  strollers. 

At  the  point  where  they  had  gone  out  of  the  glade,  there  was  a  path 
that  led  up  the  hills  in  the  direction  of  the  Jumbe  Rock.  It  was  a  mere 
cattle  track — used  only  very  occasionally  by  bipeds.  Being  the  only 
path  that  went  that  way,  and  judging  moreover,  that  neither  the  Jew 
nor  his  follower  would  be  likely  to  traverse  the  thicket  at  random,  Cubiua 
concluded  that  they  had  taken  this  path. 

Throwing  himself  upon  it,  and  advancing  with  a  quick  but  silent  stop, 
lie  soon  came  in  sight  of  them. 

The  shade  of  the  gigantic  trees — it  was  a  primeval  forest  through 
which  they  were  passing — was  favourable  to  his  design ;  and  without 
much  risk  of  being  seen,  he  was  able  to  keep  them  in  sight,  and  almost 
within  earshot. 

At  that  moment,  the  mind  of  the  Jew  was  too  pro-occupied  to  be  sus- 
picious ;  and  the  mulatta  was  not  likely  to  trouble  her  thoughts  about 
whether  they  were  followed  or  not.  Had  she  known,  however — had  she 
even  suspected — that  her  steps  were  dogged,  and  by  Cubina  the  Maroon, 
it  would,  no  doubt,  have  sharpened  her  senses. 

tl  They  appear  to  be  making  for  the  Jumbe  Rock  ?"  mentally  soliloqnis- 
•d  Cutina,  as  they  commenced  ascending  the  slope  of  the  mountain 


232  TRACKING  THE  8TKOLLEKS. 

"  Crambo .  That  is  odd  enough  !  What  do  they  intend  to  do  there  at 
this  hour  of  the  night  ?  Or  at  any  hour,  I  might  say  ?  And  who's  the 
he  that's  been  sending  for  Jessuron ?  She  took  him  a  provision  basket? 
By  that  it  ought  to  be  some  runaway  ?  But  what  has  the  old  Jew  to  d« 
with  a  runaway  ?  To  get  out  of  his  bed  at  this  time  of  the  night,  and 
tramp  it  three  miles  through  the  woods !  For  that  matter,  they  say  he 
don't  sleep  much  anyhow  ;  and,  like  the  owl,  night's  his  favourite  time  J 
suppose.  Something's  being  cooked  for  the  Gustos ;  for  that  girl's  a 
very  devil  1  Not  that  I  should'  care  so  about  him  at  any  other  time. 
He's  not  much  ;  and  is  only  helping  me  in  that  matter  for  him ;  but 
from  what  Tola's  told  me,  I'd  go  to  the  world's  end  for  his  daughter. 
Ha !  I  may  do  her  a  service  yet.  Volga,  me  Dios !  what's  up  now  ? 
They've  stopped !" 

The  Jew  and  his  companion,  about  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  had  sudden- 
ly come  to  a  stand.  They  appeared  to  be  scrutinising  the  path. 

Cubina,  crouching  in  the  shadow  of  the  bushes,  stopped  likewise  ;  and 
waited  for  the  others  to  advance. 

They  did  so  after  a  short  interval — hastening  on  as  before  ;  but  in  a 
slightly  divergent  direction. 

"  Ho,  ho  1"  muttered  the  Maroon  ;  "  not  for  the  Jumbe  Rock,  but  the 
Duppy's  Hole  I  I  remember  now.  The  path  forks  up  yonder.  They've 
taken  that  which  goes  to  the  Hole.  Well !  it  don't  help  me  to  comprehend 
their  purpose  a  bit  clearer.  Carrai!  that  Duppy's  Hole.  Didn't  some  of 
my  fellows  tell  me  they've  heard  strange  noises  there  lately  ?  Quaco  is 
ready  to  swear  he  saw  the  ghost  of  the  old  myal-man,  Chakra,  standing 
upon  the  edge  of  the  cliff  I  They're  going  there,  as  sure  as  my  name'g 
Cubina !" 

And  with  this  conjectural  reflection  the  Maroon  forsook  the  shadow, 
under  which  he  had  been  sheltering,  and  flitted  forward  along  the  path. 

Another  five  hundred  yards  farther  on  his  conjecture  was  confirmed. 

The  parties  dogged  by  him  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  precipice  that 
frowned  down  upon  the  Duppy's  Hole,  and  there  halted. 

Cubina  also  made  stop — as  before  concealing  himself  within  the  black 
shadow  of  the  bushes. 

He  had  scarcely  crouched  down,  when  his  ears  were  saluted  by  a 
shrill  but  cautious  whistle — not  made  by  the  lips,  but  proceeding  from 
gome  instrument :  a  reed  or  a  common  dog-call.  It  was  plainly  a  signal, 
nounded  either  by  Cynthia  or  the  Jew,  Cubina  could  not  tell  which. 

Only  once  was  it  given.  And  there  was  no  answer — for  that  similar 
sound,  that  came  like  an  echo  from  the  far  forest,  was  a  counterfeit.  It 
was  the  mimic-note  of  the  mock- bird. 

Cubina,  skilled  in  these  voices  of  the  night,  knew  that,  and  paid  no 
heed  to  the  distant  sound.  His  whole  attention  was  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing the  movements  of  the  too  individuals,  still  standing  upon  the  edge 
of  the  cliff.  The  white  sky  was  beyond  them,  against  which  he  could 
•ee  their  dark  silhouettes  outlined  with  perfect  distinctness. 

After  about  a  minute's  time,  he  saw  them  once  more  in  motion  ;  and 
then  both  appeared  to  vanish  from  his  view — not  wasting  into  the  air, 
but  sinking  into  the  ground,  as  if  a  trap-door  had  admitted  them  to  the 
interior  of  the  earth ! 

Ue  saw  this  without  much  surprise.    He  knew  they  must  iiave  gont 


IN    THE    WAY.  233 

down  the  precipice ;  but  how  they  had  perform      '^as  feat  was  some- 
thing that  did  surprise  him  a  little. 

It  was  but  a  short  spell  of  astonishment.  In  a  score  of  seconds  he 
stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  at  the  spot  where  they  had  disap 
peared. 

He  looked  down.  He  could  trace,  though  dimly,  a  means  of  descent 
wnong  the  wattle  of  boughs  and  corrugated  creepers  that  clasped  the 
*  fagade"  of  the  cliff.  E'  en  under  the  fantastic  gleam  of  the  moor.,  he 
eould  see  that  human  han^s  had  helped  in  the  construction  of  tl^s  natural 
ladder. 

He  stayed  not  to  scrutinise  it.  An  object  of  greater  interest  challeng 
od  his  glance.  On  the  disc  of  the  lagoon — in  the  moonlight,  a  sheet  of 
silver,  like  a  mirror  in  its  frame  of  dark  mahogany — moved  a  thing  of 
sharp,  elliptical  shape — a  canoe. 

Midships  of  the  craft,  a  form  was  crouching.  Was  it  human  or 
demon? 

The  aspect  was  demon — the  shape  scarce  human.  Long,  ape-like 
arms ;  a  hunched  back ;  teeth  gleaming  in  the  moonlight  like  the  inoisori 
of  a  shark ;  features  anything  but  human  to  one  who  had  not  seen  them 
before  1 

Cubina  had  seen  them  before.  To  him,  though  not  familiar,  they  wer« 
known.  If  not  the  ghost  of  Chakra,  he  saw  Chakra  himself  1 


CHAPTER   LXXIV. 

CYNTHIA     IN     THE     WAT. 

THE  heart  of  the  young  Maroon,  though  by  nature  bold  and  brare,  was 
for  a  moment  impressed  with  fear.  He  had  known  the  myal-man  of 
Mount  Welcome — never  very  intimately — but  enough  to  identify  his  per- 
son. Indeed,  once  seen,  Chakra  was  a  man  to  be  remembered. 

Cubina  had,  like  every  one  else  for  miles  around,  heard  of  the  trial  of 
the  Coromantee  conjurer,  and  his  condemnation  to  exposure  on  the 
Jumbe  Rock.  The  peculiar  mode  of  his  execution — the  cruel  sentence 
— the  celebrity  of  the  scene  where  the  criminal  had  been  compelled  to 
pass  the  last  miserable  hours  of  his  existence — all  combined  to  render 
uis  death  even  more  notorious  than  his  life  ;  and  few  there  were  in  the 
western  end  of  the  island  who  had  not  heard  of  the  myal  man  of  Mount 
Welcome,  and  the  singular  mode  of  atonement  that  justice  had  demanded 
him  to  make  for  his  crimes. 

In  common  with  others,  Cubina  believed  him  dead.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  the  heart  of  the  Maroon  should  for  a  moment  misgive  him  on  seeing 
Chakra  seated  in  a  canoe,  and  paddling  himself  across  the  calm  surface 
of  the  lagoon ! 

Under  any  circumstances,  the  sight  of  the  Coromantee  was  not  calcu- 
lated to  beget  confidence  in  the  mind  of  the  beholder  ;  but  his  unexpect- 
ed appearance  just  then  produced  within  the  mind  of  the  Maroon  a  feel- 
ing somewhat  stronger  than  astonishment,  and  for  some  seconds  he  stood 
trembling  upon  the  cliff. 


234  OYNTTTTA    TNT   TtfE   WAY. 

Very  soon,  however,  he  remembered  the  statement  vhich  his 
ant  had  made  aud  which  Quaco  had  put  in  the  form  of  an  asservation. 

Quaco,  like  most  of  his  colour,  a  firm  believer  in  "  Duppv"  and  "  Jam- 
be,"  ha-^  believed  it  to  be  Chakra's  ghost  he  had  seen  ;  and  under  the 
terr  JT,  with  which  the  sight  had  inspired  him,  instead  of  making  an 
attempt  to  pursue  the  apparition,  and  prove  whether  it  was  flesh  and 
blood,  or  only  "  empty  air,"  he  had  used  bis  utmost  speed  to  get  away 
from  the  spot,  leaving  the  myal-man's  ghost  full  master  of  the  ground. 

Cubina,  less  given  to  superstitious  inclinings,  only  for  a  moment  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  mystified  with  the  idea  of  a  "  Duppy."    Quaco's  ex- 
perience, along  with  the  presence  of  the  penn-keeper  and  his  companion  \ 
— there  evidently  for  a  purpose — guided  him  to  the  conclusion  that  what 
he  saw  in  the  canoe  was  no  spiritual  Chakra,  but  Chakra  in  the  flesh. 

How  the  Coromantee  came  to  be  still  living  and  moving,  the  Maroon 
might  not  so  easily  comprehend  ;  but  Gubina  possessed  acute  reasoning 
powers,  and  the  presence  of  the  Jew,  evidently  en  rapport  with  the  res- 
tored conjurer,  went  far  towards  explaining  the  mystery  of  the  latter's 
resurrection. 

Satisfied  that  he  saw  Chakra  himself,  the  Maroon  placed  himself  in  a 
position  to  watch  the  movements,  both  of  the  man  in  the  canoe,  and  those 
who  had  summoned  him  across  the  lagoon. 

In  another  moment  the  canoe  was  lost  sight  of.  It  had  passed  under 
the  bushes  at  the  bottom  of  the  cliff,  where  it  was  not  visible  frsm 
above. 

Voices  ascended,  which  could  be  heard,  but  not  distinctly. 

Cubina  could  distingush  three  voices  taking  part  in  the  conversation 
• — Chakra's,  the  Jew's,  and,  at  longer  intervals,  the  shrill  treble  of  the 
slave  Cynthia. 

He  bent  his  ear,  and  listened  with  keen  attention — in  hopes  of  hearing 
what  they  said.  He  could  only  catch  an  occasional  word.  The  roar  of 
the  cascade  rising  along  with  the  voices  hindered  him  from  hearing 
them  distinctly ;  and,  notwithstanding  his  desire  to  do  so,  he  was  unable 
to  make  out  the  matter  of  the  conversation. 

Only  for  a  short  while  was  ne  kept  waiting.  The  trialogue  came  to  a 
close,  followed  by  a  brief  interval  of  silence — at  the  end  of  which  the 
the  canoe  once  more  made  its  appearance  upon  the  open  water  of  the 
lagoon.  Two  persons  only  were  in  it,  Chakra  and  the  Jew.  Cynthia 
had  staid  by  the  bottom  of  the  cliff. 

Cubina  made  this  conjecture  with  some  chagrin.  It  was  a  circum 
•tance  that  promised  to  frustrate  the  design  he  had  suddenly  conceived, 
of  following  the  myal-man  to  his  lair.  This  he  desired  to  do  in  order  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  the  hiding-place  of  the  remarkable  runa- 
way. 

That  it  was  in  the  Duppy's  Hole  there  could  be  no  doubt ;  and  there- 
fore the  Maroon  might  at  any  time  find  him  there. 

This  reflection  would  have  contented  him,  but,  on  seeing  the  Jew 
ferried  across  the  lagoon,  he  conjectured  that  he  and  Chakra  were  bent 
npon  the  completion  of  some  horrid  plot,  which,  by  following,  he,  Cubina, 
might  have  overheard,  and,  perhaps,  have  been  enabled  to  counteract. 

The  Maroon  was  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  descending  into  the  Duppy'i 
Hole.  He  knew  there  was  but  one  way — by  the  bushes  that  clustered 


CYNffllA   IN   THE  WAt.  235 

along  the  face  of  the  cliff  at  his  feet.  Once,  while  on  the  chuse,  he  had 
ffone  down  there,  swimming  across  the  lagoon  ;  and,  in  search  of  gamey 
he  had  explored  the  wooded  covert  beyond.  At  that  time,  however, 
Chakra  had  not  been  executed;  and  the  hunter  had  found  no  trace  of  hu 
;-aan  presence  in  the  solitary  place. 

He  knew,  therefore,  that  he  could  have  followed  the  canoe  by  swim- 
ming ,  but  now  that  Cynthia  barred  the  way,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  reach  the  water  unobserved. 

To  follow  the  conspirators  farther  was  out  of  the  question.  Hii 
chance  was  cut  off  by  the  interposition  of  the  slave.  He  could  only 
remain  upon  the  cliff  and  await  their  return. 

He  was  reflecting  upon  what  course  to  pursue,  when  a  rustling  sound 
reached  him  from  below.  It  was  made  by  some  one  moving  among 
the  bushes  that  grew  against  the  face  of  the  precipice. 

He  caught  one  of  the  branches  ;  and,  supporting  himself  by  it,  craned 
his  neck  over  the  cliff.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  brilliant  chequer  of  a 
bandanna,  visible  among  the  leaves.  It  was  the  toque  upon  the  head  of 
Cynthia.  It  was  in  motion  ;  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  ascending  by 
the  tree  stairway  he  had  already  observed. 

Without  staying  to  witness  the  ascent,  he  turned  back  into  the  under- 
wood by  the  side  of  the  path  ;  and,  crouching  down,  he  waited  to  see 
what  the  slave  intended  doing.  Perhaps  her  part  in  the  performance 
cad  been  played  out — at  least,  for  that  night — and  she  was  on  her  way 
homeward  ? 

That  was  what  Cubina  conjectured,  as  well  as  just  what  he  would  have 
wished. 

His  conjecture  proved  correct.  The  mulatta,  on  mounting  to  the 
crest  of  the  cliff,  stopped  only  for  a  moment,  to  adjust  upon  her  arm  a 
basket  she  had  brought  up — from  the  half-open  lid  of  which  protruded 
the  neck  of  a  bottle.  Then,  casting  her  eyes  forward,  she  struck  off  into 
the  shadowy  forest  path,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  moment  after  she  had  passed  him,  the  Maroon  glided  silently  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  commenced  descending  the  stair. 
Such  feat  was  nothing  to  him ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  had  reached 
the  edge  of  the  lagoon. 

Here  he  paused — to  make  sure  that  the  canoe  had  arrived  at  its  destina- 
tion, and  that  its  late  occupat_ts  had  disembarked  from  it. 

After  a  moment  spent  in  this  reconnaissance — looking  sharply,  and  lis- 
tening with  all  his  ears — he  became  satisfied  that  the  coast  was  clear  ; 
and,  letting  himself  stealthily  into  the  water,  he  swam  for  the  opposite 
Shore  of  the  lagoon. 

Upon  only  about  two  thirds  of  the  surface  of  the  lagoon  did  the  moon- 
light fall — the  cliff  casting  its  shadow  upon  the  other  third.  Keeping 
within  the  boundaries  of  this  shadow,  and  swimming  as  silently  as  a  fish, 
Cubina  succeeded  in  reaching  the  opposite  shore,  without  perceiving  any 
sign  that  he  had  been  observed. 

Under  the  heavy  timber  with  which  the  upper  half  of  the  ravine  wa« 
covered  the  darkness  was  as  deep  as  if  not  a  ray  of  moonlight  came  down 
from  the  sky.  Only  on  the  stream  itself,  and  here  and  there  through  a 
hroifck  iu  the  umbrageous  forest,  could  the  moon  beams  reach  the  surface 
of  the  earth.  Elsewhere,  from  cliff  to  cliff,  the  obscurity  was  complete. 


Cubina  conjectured,  and  correctly,  that  there  was  a  j.ath  leading  Iron 
the  anchorage  of  the  canoe ;  and  to  find  this  was  his  first  purpose. 

Keeping  around  the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  he  soon  came  upon  the  craft — 
empty,  and  anchored  under  a  tree. 

The  moonlight  entering  here  from  the  open  water,  showed  him  the 
wibouchre  of  the  path,  where  it  entered  the  underwood  ;  and,  without  AOS- 
ing  a  moment's  time,  he  commenced  moving  along  it. 

Silently  as  a  cat  he  stole  around,  at  intervals  pausing  to  listen,  but  he 
sould  only  hear  the  hissing  sound  of  the  upper  cascade— to  which  ho  was 
aow  making  approach. 

For  a  space  in  front  of  the  waterfall  the  trees  stood  thinly,  and  thii 
opening  was  soon  reached. 

On  arriving  at  its  edge  the  Maroon  again  stopped  to  reconnoitre. 

Scarce  a  second  of  time  did  he  need  to  pause.  Light  flashed  in  hii 
eyes  through  the  interstices  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  grating.  It 
was  the  bamboo  door  of  the  Obeah  hut.  Voices,  too,  reverberated 
through  the  bars. 

Within  were  the  men  upon  whom  it  was  his  purpose  to  play  eaves- 
dropper. 

In  another  instant  Cubina  was  cowering  under  the  cotton  tree,  close  up 
to  the  door-post 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

8TEANQK     DISCLOSURES 

THE  two  plotters  were  palavering  loud  enough.  In  that  place  there  was 
no  need — at  least,  so  thought  they  —  for  restrained  speech ;  and  the 
listener  could  have  heard  every  word,  but  for  the  hoarse  hissing  of  the 
cataract.  This,  at  times,  hindered  him  from  distinguishing  what  was 
said  ;  and  only  in  detached  portions  could  he  pick  up  the  thread  of  the 
discourse.  Enough,  however,  heard  he,  to  cause  him  astonishment — tho 
greatest  of  all,  that  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  or  upon  the  earth,  existed 
two  such  villains  as  Chakra  the  Coromantee,  and  Jessuron  the  Jew ! 

He  could  see  the  conspirators  as  well  as  hear  them.  The  chinks  be- 
tween the  bamboos  enabled  him  to  obtain  a  view  of  both. 

The  Jew,  slightly  blown  with  his  long  walk  against  the  hill,  had  drop- 
ped into  a  sitting  attitude  upon  the  truck-like  bed-sted  ;  while  the  Coro- 
mantee stood  before  him,  leaning  against  the  buttress  of  the  tree  which 
formed  one  side  of  his  dwelling. 

The  conversation  had  commenced  before  Cubina  came  up.  It  could 
not  have  proceeded  far.  The  lard  lamp  seemed  recently  lit.  Besides, 
the  Maroon  knew  he  had  only  been  a  few  minutes  behind  them.  The 
plot,  therefore,  whatever  it  was.  had  not  yet  made  much  progress. 

So  reasoned  the  listener  ;  but  it  soon  appeared  that  it  was  the  contin 
nation  of  a  plot,  and  not  its  first  conception,  to  which  he  was  to  become 
privy —  a  plot  so  demoniac  as  to  include  murder  in  its  design! 

The  Jew,  when  Cubina  first  got  eyes  on  him,  appeared  as  if  he  had  just 
fdhrea  utterance  to  some  angry  speech.  His  dark,  weasel-like  orbs  wer* 


STRANGE   DISCLOSURES.  237 

•parkling  in  their  sunken  sockets,  with  a  fiendish  light.  The  goggles 
were  off,  and  the  eyes  could  be  seen.  In  his  right  hand  the  eternal 
umbrella  was  grasped,  with  a  firm  clutch,  as  if  held  in  menace  ! 

Chakra,  on  the  other  hand,  appeared  cowed  and  pleading.  Though 
almost  twice  the  size,  and  apparently  twice  the  strength  of  the  olci 
Israelite,  he  looked  at  that  moment  as  if  in  fear  of  him  1" 

"Gorry,  Massr  Jake  !"  said  he  in  an  appealing  tone ;  "  how  ebber  wa'  1 
to  know  de  Cussus  warn  a  gwine  so  soon  ?  A  nebber  speered  ob  dat;  au 
you  nebber  tole  me  you  wanted  de  death-'pell  to  work  fasser  dan  wai 
•ate.  Ef  ajd  a  know'd  dat,  a  kud  a  fetch  de  dam  Cussus  out  o'  him  boot* 
in  de  shake  ob  a  cat's  tail — dat  kud  a  did  1" 

"  A/ch  1"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  with  an  air  of  unmistakable  chagrin  ;  "'  he's 
going  to  shlip  us.  S'help  me,  he  will  1  And  now,  too,  when  I  wants 
more  ash  ever  the  shpell  upon  him.  I'sh  heard  something  from  thish 
girl  Cynthy  of  a  conshpiracy  against  myself.  Sheesh  heard  them  plotting 
in  the  summer-house  in  the  Cushtos's  garden." 

"  Wha'  dey  plot  'gain  you,  Massr  Jake  ?  Who  am  dey  dat  go  plottin1 1" 

"The  Cushtos  is  one,  the  other  ish  that  scamp  son  of  Cubina,  the 
Maroon — the  young  Cubina.  You  knowsh  him  ?" 

"  Dat  same  a  know  well  'nuf." 

"  Ah !  the  proud  Cushtos  don't  know — though  he  hash  his  sushpicions 
— that  hish  wife  Quasheba  was  the  mistress  of  a  Maroon.  Ha  !  ha !  ha  t 
And  she  luffed  the  mulatta  better  ash  ever  she  luffed  Vanities  Vochan. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Dat  am  berry  near  de  troof,"  observed  the  negro,  with  a  thoughtful 
air. 

"  Little  doesh  the  Cushtos  think,"  continued  Jessuron,  without  heeding 
the  interpolation ;  "  that  thish  young  fellow,  whosh  a  helping'  him  to 
conshpire  againsht  me  is  a  sort  of  a  son  to  hish  consheited  worship.  Ha 
halha!' 

It  was  startling  intelligence  for  the  listener  outside  the  door.  It  was 
the  first  intimation  the  young  Maroon  ever  bad  as  to  who  was  his  mother. 

Some  vague  hints  had  been  conveyed  to  him  in  early  childhood  ;  but 
his  memory  recalled  them  as  dreams  ;  and  he  himself  had  never  allow- 
ed them  expression.  His  father  he  had  known  well — called  as  himself — 
Cubina  the  Maroon.  But  his  mother,  who  or  what  she  had  been,  he  had 
never  known. 

Was  it  possible,  then,  that  the  quadroon,  Quasheba — of  whose  fame  he, 
too,  had  heard — was  it  possible  she  was  his  own  mother  ?  That  "  lily 
Quasheba,"  the  beautiful  the  accomplished  daughter  of  the  Gustos 
Vaughan  was  his  half-sister  ? 

He  could  not  doubt  it.  The  conversation  that  followed  put  him  in 
possession  of  further  details,  and  more  ample  proofs.  Besides,  srfch  re- 
lationships were  too  common  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  to  make  them 
matter  either  of  singularity  or  surprise. 

Notwithstanding,  the  listener  was  filled  with  astonishment — far  more 
than  that — for  the  revelation  was  one  to  stir  his  soul  to  emotions  of  the 
strangest  and  strongest  kind.  New  thoughts  sprang  up  at  the  announce- 
ment ;  new  vistas  opened  before  the  horoscope  of  his  future ;  new  ties 
were  established  within  his  heart,  hitherto  unfelt  and  unknown. 

Stifling  his  new-sprung  emotions,  as  well  ae  he  was  a 
at  iemo  otter  tioie — h«  re-b^t  his  ear  to 


238 

He  hoard  enough  to  satisfy  him  that  h-3  had  a  sister-  -a  half-sister,  it  if 
true — but  still  a  sister. 

The  next  point  determined  on  between  the  conspirators  was  equally 
calculated  to  startle  and  astonish  him.  It  was  no  less  than  a  design  to 
render  that  sister  brotherless! 

"You  musht  put  the  ehpell  on  him,  too,"  said  the  Jew ;  "for  heeh  &h« 
principal  in  thish  plot  againsht  me.  Even  if  the  Cushtos  wash  out  of  the 
way,  thish  schamp,  Cubina,  will  go  to  some  other  magistrate  to  carry  out 
hish  design.  There  will  be  plenty  to  help  him.  You  musht  shpell  kin, 
and  soon  ash  you  can,  Shakra.  Therc'sh  no  time  to  loose — not  a  mmnit, 
S'help  me. 

"  A  do  wha  a  can,  Massr  Jake  ;  but  a  rnout's  well  tell  ye,  dat  it  a'nt  so 
easy  to  put  de  'pell  on  a  Maroon.  It  coss  me  more'n  twenty  years  to  put 
de  Obeah  on  him  ole  fadder,  and  I'se  a  been  trying'  urn  on  dis  young 
Cubina  fo'  some  time — ebber  since  him  fadder  die.  A  hate  the  young  un 
same  a  hated  de  ole  un.  You  knows  why  a  hate  boaf." 
I  knowsh  all  that^-I  knowsh  all.  that." 

"  Wa,  den  !  a  do  ma  bess.  Dat  ar  rn'latta  gib  me  no  hope.  She  soon 
'dminster  de  'pell  ef  she  hab  chance — kase  she  think  urn  de  lub  drink. 
She  hab  no  chance,  fo'  Cubina  he  no  let  her  come  nigh  of  him.  Nebber 
mind  :  Chakra  he  find  opportunity  some  day  ;  'fore  long  he  put  de  death 
'pell  on  de  son  ob  dat  quaderoom." 

"  Perhaps  not  so  soon  !"  was  the  mental  rejoinder  of  hiai  ^ho  listened 
to  this  confident  declaration. 

"  It'sh  less  matter  about  him  than  the  other !"  cried  th*  Jew,  giving 
way  to  a  fresh  burst  of  rage.  "  S'help  me !  the  Cushtos  is  g  oing  to  shlip 
out  of  my  fingers — the  eshtate— all !  Ach,"  he  ejaculated  as  his  dis- 
appointment came  more  palpably  before  him,  "  you  hash  placed  me  false, 
Shakra !  I  b'lief  you've  been  playin'  me  false  ! 

As  the  Jew  gave  utterance  to-this  conjectural  speech,  he  sHrted  to  his 
feet — taking  a  tighter  hold  upon  his  umbrella,  and  standing  before  hie 
1  vis-a-vis'  in  a  threatening  attitude. 

"  No,  Massr  Jake,"  replied  the  myal-man,  without  altering1  the  air  of 
obeisance  he  had  hitherto  assumed.  "  No — nuffin  of  dat — anv  how,  t'se 
can  say,  dar's  nuffin  ob  dat.  You  yaseff  sabbey  well  'nuf,  a  hah  as  good 
roezun  as  yaseff  to  make  de  'pell  work,  an,  I  tell  you  it  shall  worH" 

"  Tesh  !  when  too  late — too  late!    I  don't  care  then.    If  the  P*i8Mct 
get  to  Spanish  Town — if  he  procuresh  the   shpecial  act,  I'm  a  ruined 
Shew !    I  don't  care  a  shtraw  if  the  death-shpell  wash  put  on  myshelf 
I  don't!" 

This  speech  was  rather  a  soliloquy  than  addressed  to  Chakra,  who  lie 
tened  to  it  without  clearly  comprehending  its  import:  for  the  chief 
motive  which  was  stimulating  the  Jew  was  still  unknown  to  his  felloe 
conspirator. 

"  I  tell  you,"  resumed  Jesauron,  still  in  threatening  speech,  "  I  believe 
you  hash  been  fooling  me,  Shakra!  You  hash  seme  interest  of  your  OWE 
— perhaps  with  thish  Lilly  Quasheba.  Hal  never  mind  !  I  tell  you  thish 
time — I  tell  you,  Shakra,  if  the  shpell  dosh  fail — yesh,  if  it  fail,  and  the 
Cushtos  reach  the  capital — where  he  ish  going — I  tell  you,  Shakra,  you 
may  look  out  for  shqualls  1  You  loosh  your  mouish  I  promised  you.  .  Ay, 
you  may  loosh  your  life  ash  well.  I  hash  only  to  shay  a  word,  aud  tka 


A    STOBMT   SCENE.  239 

Duppy's  Hole  will  be  searched  by  the  houndsh  of  the  law.  Now  will 
you  do  your  beskt,  to  keep  the  Cuehtos  from  reaching  the  capital  of  the 
island  ?" 

As  Jessuron  finished  the  speech  containing  this  hypothetical  threat, 
he  moved  in  the  direction  of  the  door,  apparently  with  the  intention  of 
taking  his  departure. 

The  Maroon,  perceiving  the  movement,  stepped  further  back  into  th» 
shadow  of  the  cotton-tree — taking  care  to  conceal  himself  effectually. 

This  change  of  position  prevented  him  from  hearing  what  subsequent- 
ly passed  between  the  two  conspirators.  Some  more  conversation  there 
was  on  both  sides — an  interchange  of  it,  which  lasted  for  several  minutes; 
but  although  the  listener  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  voices,  he  was  un- 
able to  make  out  the  words  spoken. 

What  was  ^aid  by  the  Jew  was  principally  the  repetition  of  hifl 
menace — in  terms  the  most  emphatic  he  could  employ ;  while  Chakra, 
with  equal  emphasis,  repeated  his  promises  to  accomplish  the  nefarious 
purpose  already  agreed  upon  between  them. 

"  A  promise,  Massr  Jake,"  said  the  myal-man,  in  conclusion,  "  by  tha 
great  Accompong,  a  do  ma  bess.  Ef  de  Cussus  'trive  'scape,  den  y*u  do 
wid  ole  Chakra  whasomediver  you  hab  mind  to.  'Liver  him,  up  ef  you 
like !  Ha  1  De  Cussus  no  'scape.  Dis  night  Cynthy  hab  take  bottle  in 
her  basket  ob  de  'trongest  kind.  It  do  de  bizness  in  'bout  twenty-fof 
hour.  Daat  am  de  true  death-'pell.  Whugh  I" 

"  In  twenty-four  hours  ?    You  ish  shure,  Shakra  ?  you  ish  shure  ?" 

"  Shoo'  as  a  'm  now  in  de  Duppy  Hole,  Massr  Jake.  Doan'  you  bab 
no  mo'  doubt  ob  ole  Chakra.  He  hab  no  lub  fo'  Cussus  VaTian  mo'  dan 
youseflf.  P'raps  he  lub  de  Cussus'  dau'ter,  but  dat  am  berry  diffrent  sort 
ob  'fecshun.  Whugh  1" 

With  this  speech  of  fiendish  signification  the  dialogue  ended  ;  and  tho 
Jew  was  seen  stepping  outside,  followed  by  his  confederate. 

Both  walked  away  from  the  spot,  Chakra  taking  the  lead,  the  Maroon 
closely  watching  their  movements. 

On  reaching  the  canoe  the  conspirators  stepped  abroad,  and  the  craft 
was  paddled  over  the  lagoon. 

Cubina  waited  for  its  return ;  and  then,  seeing  Chakra  safe  within  hia 
hut,  he  hastened  back  to  the  water ;  and  swimming,  as  before,  under  the 
.  shadow  of  the  rock,  he  re-ascended  the  tree  stairway,  and  stood  onc« 
•  iwore  on  the  summit  of  the  cliff. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

A  STORMY  8G1KX.  { 

OH  emerging  from  the  Duppy's  Hole,  the  penn-keeper  tracked  it,  aa 
straight  as  the  path  would  permit  him,  towards  his  own  home.  He 
walked  with  hurried  steps,  as  if  he  had  some  purpose  before  him  beyond 
that  of  going  to  bed.  Late  as  was  the  hour — or  early,  it  should  rather  be 
uaid,  siuce  it  was  getting  on  for  day-break— in  the  eye  of  the  old  Israelite 
thoro  wag  uo  sign  of  sleepiness  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  wide-awake  ex 


240  A  STORMY  SCENE. 

pression  that  betokened  his  intention  to  accomplish  some  desired  object 
before  retiring  to  rest. 

The  mutterings  which  fell  from  his  lips,  as  he  moved  onward  among 
the  trees,  told  that  his  discontent  still  continued.  Chakra's  assurances, 
that  had,  for  the  moment,  partially  removed  his  ill-humour,  on  reflection 
failed  to  satisfy  him.  More  than  once  before,  the  myal-man  had  given 
him  promises  which  he  had  failed  hi  keeping;  and  so  might  it  be  with  the 
promise  of  the  death-spell.  With  this  thought  was  revived  in  full  vigour  the 
apprehension  that  his  enemy  might  escape  ;  and,  consequently,  his  deep- 
conceived  scheme  would  result  in  ignominious  failure.  » 

The  measures  which  the  myal-man  had  taken  for  administering  the  $ 
spdl-medic'me — that  bottle  of  strong  waters  which  Cynthia  carried  home 
in  her  basket — had  been  revealed  to  the  Jew.  The  revelation  had  been 
made— as  iuited  the  subject — in  a  low  tone  of  voice  ;  and  it  was  this  part 
of  the  dialogue  between  the  two  conspirators  which  Cubina  had  not 
heard. 

But  the  Coromantee  might  be  mistaken  in  his  skill  ?  The  prescription 
might  fail  in  producing  the  desired  effect  ?  The  slave  might  not  find  the 
opportunity  to  administer  it  ? 

Considering  the  early  hour  at  which  the  traveler  was  to  start — Jessu- 
ron  knew  the  hour — Cynthia  might  not  have  a  chance  to  give  the  medi- 
cine ?  Or  frayed  by  contemplation  of  the  fearful  consequence,  which  she 
now  knew  would  follow  almost  instantaneously  upon  the  act,  she  might 
in  the  end  shy  from  the  dangerous  duty  ?  The  intended  victim  might,  in 
the  meantime,  have  become  suspicious  of  the  mixtures  prepared  by  the 
mulatta,  and  decline  to  drink  the  deadly  draught  ?" 

There  were  many  chances  that  the  Gustos  might  escape. 

"  '  There  ieh  many  a  shlip  between  the  cup  and  the  lipsh,'  "  muttered 
the  wicked  old  man,  quoting  one  of  his  favourite  proverbs.  "  Ach  I  that 
ish  true,"  he  added,  with  bitter  emphasis,  as  the  probabilities  of  failure 
passed  more  palpably  before  his  mind. 

"  S'help  me !"  continued  he,  with  an  attempt  at  self-consolation ;  "  I 
Shall  not  be  deprived  of  my  refenge — that  ish  certain — whether  he  goesh 
to  Spanish  Town  or  shtays  at  home.  Ach  1"  he  exclaimed,  again  chang- 
ing his  tone  to  one  of  chagrin,  "  what  dosh  that  signify,  beshide  the 
other?  If  he  could  be  shtopped,  it  wash  a  grand  deshtiny  for  mice 
Bhoodith,  for  myself — me,  old  Shacob  Sljessuron  1  Mount  Welcome  wash 
mine  !  It  rnusht  belong  to  thish  young  fellow — he  belongs  to  Shoodith— 
Shoodith  belongsh  to  me !  Ach  I  what  a  pity  if  my  shkeme  ish  to  fail- 
after  all  I  hash  done  to  make  it  succeed  I 

"  If  it  fail,"  he  continued,  the  probabilities  of  failure  presenting  a  new 
phase  to  him,  "  if  it  fail,  I'm  a  ruined  man ! — I  am  1  Shooditn*  may  want 
to  marry  thish  young  fellow.  I  believe  she  luffs  him — I'm  afeerd  stya 
dcosh — and  he  hashn't  the  worth  of  the  shoosh  he  sh stands  in.  Blesh 
my  shoul!  I  musht  try  to  prevent  it.  It  musht  go  no  farther  till  I'm 
ehure  of  the  Cushtos.  Not  a  shtep — not  a  shtep.  She  musht  be  seen, 
and  thish  very  night.  Yesh  ;  I  musht  see  Shoodith  before  I  siileep!" 

Urged  on  by  the  desire  of  the  interview  thus  announced,  the  Jew  ha* 
tened  his  steps  ;  and  soon  arrived  under  the  shadow  of  the  dark  pile  that 
constituted  his  perm. 

by  the  bjac&  porter  at  the  gate — for  that  of  th«  •ourt-yard, 


A    STORMY    SCENE.  241 

or  Blare  enclosure,  was  always  kept  Locked — he  mounted  the  wooden 
steps,  and  stole  as  silently  along  the  verandah,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
stranger  in  the  house  instead  of  its  owner.  His  object,  in  this  stealthy 
movement,  appeared  to  be,  to  avoid  disturbing  some  one  who  slept  hi  a 
hammock  near  one  end  of  the  long  gallery. 

It  was  toward  the  other  end,  however,  that  he  went — hi  the  direction 
of  a  chamber,  through  the  lattice-window  of  which  a  light  was  streaming. 
ft  was  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Jewess. 

On  arriving  opposite  the  door,  he  knocked,  not  loudly,  at  the  same  time 
pronouncing,  in  a  half  whisper,  the  name  "  Shoodith  1" 

"  That  you,  old  rabbi  T"  inquired  a  voice  from  within  ;  while  a  footstep 
passing  across  the  floor  told  either  that  the  Jewess  had  not  yet  sought 
her  couch,  or  had  sought,  and  again  forsaken  it 

The  door  was  opened ;  and  the  worthy  father  of  this  wakeful  daugh- 
ter passed  inside. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  as  he  entered,  "  I  won't  inquire  what  errand  you've 
been  on,  my  good  papa  Jessuron :  some  slave  speculation,  I  suppose  T 
But  what  have  I  to  do  with  it,  that  you  should  compel  me  to  sit  up  for 
you  till  this  time  of  the  night  ?  It's  now  near  morning ;  and  I'm  precious 
•leepy,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Ach !  Shoodith,  dear,"  replied  the  father.  "  Everything  ish  goin* 
wrong  !  shelp  me,  everything  1" 

"  Well,  one  might  think  so,  from  that  doleful  phiz  of  yours.  What'i 
troubling  you  now,  my  worthy  parent  ?" 

"  Ach  1  Shoodith !  Don't  dishtress  me  by  your  speeches.  I  hash 
something  of  importance  to  shay  to  you,  before  I  go  to  shleep." 

"  Say  it  quick,  then :  for  I  want  to  go  to  sleep  mysell  What  is  it, 
pray  ?" 

"  Well,  Shoodith,  dear,  it  ish  this ;  you  mushn't  trifle  any  more  with 
thish  young  fellow." 

"  What  young  felld|r  do  you  mean,  my  good  man  ?" 
"  \  ochan,  of  coursh — Mashter  Vochan." 
"  Ho !  ho  1  you've  changed  your  tune.    What's  this  about  TH 
"  I  hash  reason,  Shoodith  ;  I  hash  reason." 

"Who  said  I  was  trifling  with  him?    Not  I,  father!    Anything  but 
that,  I  can  assure  you. " 
"  That  ish  not  what  I  mean,  Shoodith." 

"  Well,  then,  what  do  you  mean,  old  gentleman?  Come  now  I  mak« 
yourself  intelligible." 

"  I  md&n  thish,  Shoodith :  you  mushn't  let  thinjjs  go  any  farther  with 
the  young  fellow — that  ish,  shoost  now — till  I  knowsh  sonic-thing  inoro 
about  hiia.  I  thought  he  wash  going  to  be  rich — you  know  I  thought 
that,  mind  daughter — but  I  hash  lound  out,  thish  very  night,  that — per- 
haps— he  may  never  be  worth  a  shingle  shilling  ;  and  therefore,  Shoodith, 
vou  couldn't  think  of  marrying  him— and  mushn't  think  of  it  till  wo 
knowsh  more  about  him  I'' 

"  Father  1"  replied  the  Jewess,  at  once  throwing  aside  her  habitual 

badinage,  and  assuming  a  serious  tone,  **  it  is  too  late  I    Did  I  not  tell  you 

that  the  tarantula  might  get  caught  in  its  own  trap  ?    The  prcrverb  hai 

proved  true  ;  lam  that  unhappy  spider  1" 

"You  don't  shay  so,  Sfaoodith?"  inquired  the  father,  with  a  look  of 


£42  WHERE  NEXT? 

"  I  do !  Yonder  sleeps  the  fly"— ~and  the  speaker  pointed  aloiig  tli« 
gallery  in  the  direction  of  the  hammock — "  secure  from  any  harm  I  can 
ever  do  him.  And  were  he  as  poor  as  he  appears  to  be — as  humble  aa 
the  lowest  slave  on  your  estate — he  is  rich  enough  for  me.  Ah!  it  will 
be  hi*  fault,  not  mine,  if  he  do  not  become  my  husband !" 

The  proud,  determined  tone  in  which  the  Jewess  spoke,  was  only 
modified  as  she  uttered  the  last  words.  The  conjunctive  form  of  the 
tlosing  speech,  with  a  certain  duplexity  of  expression  upon  her  counte- 
nance, showed  that  she  was  not  yet  sure  of  the  heart  of  Herbert  Vaughan. 
Notwithstanding  his  attentions  at  the  ball — notwithstanding  much  that 
had  since  occurred,  there  appeared  to  be  a  doubt — a  trace  of  distrust 
that  still  lingered. 

"  Never,  Shoodith  1"  cried  the  father,  in  a  tone  of  determined  authority. 
"  You  mushn't  think  of  itl  You  shall  never  marry  a  pauper — never  !" 

"  Pauper  him  as  much  as  you  like  ;  father,  he  won't  care  for  that,  any 
more  than  I  do." 

"  I  shall  disinherit  you,  Shoodith  1"  said  the  Jew,  giving  way  to  his 
spiteful  feeling  of  resentment. 

"  As  you  like  about  that,  too.  Disinherit  me  at  your  pleasure.  But  re- 
member, old  man,  it  was  you  who  began  this  game— -you  who  set  me  to 
playing  it ;  and  if  you're  in  danger  of  losing  your  stake — whatever  it 
may  be — I  tell  you  you're  in  danger  of  losing  me — that  is,  if  he " 

The  hypothetic  thought — whatever  it  was — that  at  this  crisis  crossed 
the  mind  of  the  Jewess,  was  evidently  one  that  caused  her  pain :  as 
could  be  seen  by  the  dark  shadow  that  came  mantling  over  her  beautiful 
brow. 

Whether  or  not  she  would  have  finished  the  speech  is  uncertain.  She 
was  not  permitted  to  proceed.  The  angry  father  interrupted  her  : — 

•'  I  won't  argue  with  you  now,  Shoodith.  Go  to  your  bed,  girl !  go  to 
ehleep!  Thish  I  promish  you — and  s'help  me.  I  keepsh  mypromishl 
if  thish  pauper  ish  to  be  a  pauper,  he  'never  marries  you  with  my  con- 
shent ;  and  without  my  conshent  he  never  touches  a  shilling  of  my 
uoonish.  You  undershtand  that,  Shoodith?" 

And  without  waiting  to  hear  the  reply — which  was  quite  as  defiant  as 
his  own  declaration — the  Jew  hurried  out  of  his  daughter's  chamber, and 
shuffled  off  along  the  verandah 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

WHERE  NEXT! 

THE  Maroon,  after  mounting  to  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  paused  for  som« 
moments  to  reflect  upon  a  course  of  action. 

In  his  bosom  were  many  new  emotions,  springing  from  the  strange  re- 
velations to  which  he  had  just  listened.  His  mind  was  in  such  a  state 
of  chaotic  confusion,  that  it  required  some  time  to  determine  what  h« 
ought  to  do  next,  or  whither  he  should  go. 

The  thought  that  thrilled  him  most,  was  that  which  related  to  the  dit> 
•overy  of  maternal  relationship  to  Miss  Vaughan.  But  this  matter 


WHERE    NEXT.  243 

however  strange  it  was,  required  no  immediate  action  to  be  taken  on  his 
part ;  and  though  the  semi-fraternal  affection,  now  felt  for  the  first  time, 
strengthened  the  romantic  friendship  which  he  had  conceived  for  the 
young  lady-  -whom  he  had  now  seen  several  times — still  from  what  he 
had  overheard  of  the  scheme  of  the  conspirators,  his  new  discovered 
•ister  did  not  appear  to  be  in  any  danger.  At  least,  not  just  then  ; 
though  some  horrid  hints  darkly  .thrown  out  by  Chakra  pointed  to  a  pro- 
bable peril  at  some  future  time. 

That  her  father  was  in  danger,  Cubina  could  not  doubt.  Some  de- 
moniac plot,  had  been  prepared  for  the  Gustos,  which  was  to  deprive  him 
even  of  life  ;  and  from  what  the  Maroon  could  make  out  of  the  half-heard 
conversation  of  the  conspirators,  action  was  to  be  taken  upon  it,  so  early 
as  the  following  morning. 

Mr.  Vaughan  intended  a  journey. 

Yola  had  herself  told  him  so ;  and  the  confabulation  between  Jessuron 
and  Chakra  confirmed  it.  Cynthia,  had  been  their  informant ;  and  it  was 
evident  that  upon  that  very  night  she  had  brought  the  news  from  Mount 
Welcome.  Evident,  also,  that  the  piece  of  intelligence  thus  conveyed 
had  taken  both  the  conspirators  by  surprise — causing  them  to  hasten 
some  devilish  plan  that  before  that  night  had  not  been  quite  ripe  for  ex- 
ecution. 

All  this  was  clear  enough  to  the  mind  of  the  Maroon. 

Equally  clear  was  it,  that  the  plan  was  no  other  than  an  atrocious  plot 
to  murder  the  proprietor  of  Mount  Welcome  ;  and  that  poison  was  the 
safe  silent  weapon  to  be  used — for  Cubina  was  not  unacquainted  with  the 
signification  of  the  death-spell  of  Obeah.  Before  that  night  he  had  reason 
to  believe  that  his  own  father  had  fallen  by  that  secret  shaft,  and  reasons 
to  suspect  that  Chakra  had  shot  it.  What  he  had  just  heard  confirmed 
his  belief  and  but  that  he  saw  the  necessity  of  hastening  to  the  rescue  of 
the  threatened  Gustos — and  knew,  moreover,  that  he  could  find  Chakra  at 
anj  time — he  would,  in  all  probability,  have  avenged  his  father's  dealt 
before  leaving  the  Duppy's  Hole. 

The  young  Maroon,  however,  was  a  man  of  mild  character — combining 
prudence  with  an  extreme  sang-froid — that  hindered  him  from  bringing 
any  event  to  an  ambiguous  ending.  Though  leaving  Chakra  for  the  time, 
he  had  determined  soon  to  return  to  him. 

The  resurrection  of  the  myal-mau,  though  it  at  first  very  naturally  as- 
tonished him,  had  soon  ceased  to  be  a  mystery  to  the  mind  of  the  Maroon, 
hi  fact  the  presence  of  the  Jew  had  at  once  explained  the  whole  thing. 
Cubina  conjectured,  and  correctly, that  Jessuron  had  released  the  condemn- 
ed criminal  from  his  chains,  and  substituted  the  body  of  some  dead 
negro — afterwards  to  become  the  representative  of  Chakra's  skeleton. 

For  this  the  Jew,  well  known  for  wickedness,  might  have  many  mo- 
tives. 

The  Maroon  did  not  stay  to  speculate  upon  them.  His  thoughts  were 
directed  to  the  present  and  future  rather  than  the  past — to  the  rescue  of 
the  Gustos,  over  whom  a  fearful  fate  seemed  to  impend. 

tit  need  not  be  denied  that  Cubina  felt  a  certain  friendship  for  the  plan 
tcr  of  Mount  Welcome.     Hereto  fore  it  had  not  been  of  a  very  ardent  cha- 
racter ;  but  the  relations  lately  established  between  him  and  the  Gustos— 
i  prospect  of  the  process  to  be  taken  against  their  common  enemy,  the 


244  WHERE  NEXT! 

penn  keeper — has,  of  course,  occasioned  a  fellow-feeling  between  th«u, 
The  revelations  of  that  night  had  strengthened  the  interest  which  the 
Maroon  had  begun  to  feel  for  Mr.  Vaughan  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  he  now  felt  an  honest  desire  to  save  the  father  of  her  whom  he 
was  henceforth  to  regard  as  his  own  sister.  To  this  end,  then,  were  his 
thoughts  directed. 

He  stayed  not  long  to  speculate  upon  the  motives — either  of  Chain  -a  ( ! 
Jessuron.  Those  of  the  myal-man  he  could  guess  to  a  certainty.  Revenge 
for  the  sentence  that  exposed  him  to  that  fearful  fate  on  the  Jumbe  Rock  I 

The  motives  of  the  Jew  were  less  transparent.  His  deepest  did  not 
appear  in  the  confabulation  Cubina  had  overheard.  Even  Chakra  did  not 
Knoir  it.  It  might  be  fear  of  the  approaching  trial  i  which  by  some 
means  the  Jew  had  become  apprised  of. 

But  no.  On  reflection,  Cubina  saw  it  could  not  be  that :  for  the  conver 
nation  of  the  conspirators  betrayed  that  their  plot  had  been  anterior  to 
any  information  which  the  Jew  could  have  had  of  the  design  of  the  Gus- 
tos. It  could  not  be  that. 

No  matter  what.  Mr.  Vaughan,  the  father  of  the  generons  young 
lady — she  who  had  promised  to  make  him  a  present  of  his  beloved  bride, 
and  who  now  proved  to  be  his  own  step-sister — her  father  was  in 
danger  1 

Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  Without  regard  to  motives,  measurea 
must  be  taken  to  avert  that  danger,  and  punish  the  miscreants  who  de- 
signed it 

Cubina  continued  to  reflect  upon  what  step  should  be  first  taken. 

Should  he  go  direct  to  Mount  Welcome,  and  warn  the  Gustos,  by  re- 
porting to  him  what  he  had  heard. 

That  was  the  first  idea  that  presented  itself  to  his  mind  ;  but  at  that 
hour  Mr.  Vaughan  would  be  a-bed,  and  he — a  Maroon — might  not  be 
admitted,  unless,  indeed,  he  could  show,  by  pleading  the  urgency  of  his 
errand,  good  cause  for  the  Gustos  to  be  roused  from  his  slumber. 

This,  undoubtedly,  would  he  have  done,  had  he  known  that  the  scheme 
of  the  conspirators  had  been  definitely  arranged.  But,  as  already  stated, 
he  had  not  heard  Chakra's  concluding  speech — referring  tc  Cynthkx  and 
the  bottle  of  strong  medicine  ;  and  all  the  rest  only  pointed  vaguely  at 
some  measures  to  be  taken  to  frustrate  the  expedition  to  Spanish  Town. 

It  would  be  time  enough,  thought  he,  to  meet  these  measures  by  going 
tc  Mount  Welcome  in  the  morning.  He  could  get  there  before  Mr. 
Vaughan  should  start  upon  his  journey.  He  could  go  at  an  early  hour, 
but  one  when  his  appearance  would  not  give  cause  for  any  unnecessary 
remark. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  reflect,  that  the  time  of  the  traveller's  de- 
parture from  Mount  Welcome — of  which  Cubina  had  not  been  apprised 
—might  be  anterior  to  that  of  his  arrival  there.  The  Maroon,  thinking 
that  the  great  Gustos  was  not  likely  to  inconvenience  himself  by  early 
rising,  had  no  apprehension  about  missing  him  by  being  himself  too  late. 

With  this  confidence,  then,  he  resolved  to  postpone  his  visit  to  Mount 
Welcome  until  some  hour  after  daybreak ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  to  carry 
out  the  preliminaries  of  a  programme,  referring  to  a  very  different  affair, 
And  which  had  been  traced  out  the  day  before. 

Tbe  first  sooae  in  this  programme  was  to  be  a  mooting  with  Herbert 


WHERE   NEXT.  245 

Vaughan.  It  had  been  appointed  to  take  place  between  them  on  die  fol- 
lowing morning  ;  and  on  the  same  spot  where  the  two  young  men  had 
first  encountered  one  another — in  the  glade  under  the  great  ceiba. 

The  interview  was  of  Herbert's  own  seeking ;  for  although  neither 
had  seen  the  other,  since  the  day  on  which  the  runaway  had  been 
rescued,  some  items  of  intelligence  had  passed  between  them — Quacc 
acting  as  the  medium  of  their  correspondence. 

Herbert  had  an  object  in  seeking  the  interview.  He  desired  a  confer- 
ence with  Cubina,  in  hopes  of  obtaining  from  him  an  explanation  of  mori 
than  one  circumstance,  that  had  lately  arisen  to  puzzle  and  perplex  him. 

His  patron's  suspicious  story  about  the  red  runaway  was  one  of  these 
circumstances.  Herbert  had  heard  from  Quaco  that  the  slave  was  still 
staying  with  the  Maroons  in  their  mountain  town ;  and  had  been  adopted 
into  their  little  community — in  fact,  had  himself  become  a  Maroon. 

This  did  not  tally  with  the  account  given  by  Jessuron.  Of  course, 
Quaco  could  not  state  the  reasons.  The  secrecy  enjoined  by  the  Custog 
kept  Cubina's  tongue  tied  upon  that  theme;  and  his  own  men  knew 
nothing  of  the  design  which  their  captain  had  conceived  against  the 
Jew. 

This  was  not  the  only  matter  which  mystified  the  young  Englishman, 
and  which  he  was  in  hopes  of  having  cleared  up  by  Cubina.  His  own 
position  at  the  penn — of  late  developing  itself  in  a  manner  to  surprise 
and  startle  him — also  needed  elucidation.  There  was  no  one  near  of 
whom  he  could  ask  a  question  in  regard  to  it,  and  never  in  his  life  did  he 
stand  more  in  need  of  a  confidant. 

In  this  dilemma  he  had  thought  of  his  old  acquaintance,  the  Maroon 
captain.  The  intelligent  mulatta  appeared  to  be  the  very  man.  Herbert 
remembered  the  promise  made  at  parting,  his  own  conditional  acceptance 
of  it,  which  now  appeared  prophetic,  since  the  contingency  then  ex- 
pressed had  come  to  pass.  He  had  need  to  avail  himself  of  the  friendly 
proffer,  and  for  that  purpose  had  he  made  the  appointment  under  the 
ceiba. 

Equally  desirous  was  the  Maroon  to  meet  with  the  young  Englishman, 
He  had  preserved  a  grateful  recollection  of  his  generous  interference  in 
what  appeared  a  very  unequal  combat ;  and,  so  far  from  having  lost 
sight  of  his  noble  ally,  he  had  been  keeping  him  in  mind — after  a  fashion 
that  was  calculated  to  show  the  deep  gratitude  with  which  Herbert'! 
conduct  had  inspired  him. 

He  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  giving  renewed  expression  to  this 
gratitude ;  but  he  had  other  reasons  for  wishing  to  see  the  young 
Englishman  just  then ;  and  the  meeting  with  Tola  on  that  same  night 
had  an  object  somewhat  different  from  the  mere  repetition  of  love  vows 
— already  pronounced  over  and  over  again,  upon  a  score  of  distinct  oc- 
casicns. 

Now  that  the  night  hours  had  nearly  all  passed,  and  that  the  morning 
was  nigh,  the  Maroon,  instead  of  returning  to  his  mountain  home,  decid- 
ed on  going  back  to  the  glade,  spending  the  few  hours  of  interval 
under  the  shadow  of  the  ceiba. 

Indeed,  the  time  would  not  now  allow  of  his  returning  home.  The 
•uu  would  be  up  in  three  or  four  hours.  A  little  after  sunrise  was  the 
appointed  time  for  the  meeting  with  Herbert  Vaughan.  Before  that 


940 

uour  snould  arrive,  he  could  scarce  reach  his  own  "  toTiii"  and  get  bael 
again.     The  thing,  therefore,  was  net  to  be  thought  of. 

To  sleep  under  a  tree,  or  on  one,  was  no  new  thing  for  Cubina.  It 
would  never  occur  to  him  to  consider  such  a  couch  as  inconvenient.  In 
his  hog-hunting  excursions — often  continuing  for  days,  and  even  weeks — 
he  was  accustomed  to  repose  upon  the  cold  ground — upon  the  swirl  of 
withered  leaves — upon  the  naked  rock^-any where.  Not  much  did  ii 
matter  to  a  Maroon,  to  be  sheltered  by  a  roof — not  much,  whether  a  tree 
lhadowed  his  slumbers,  or  whether  on  his  grassy  couch  he  saw  shining 
over  him  the  starry  canopy  of  the  sky.  These  were  but  the  circumstan- 
ces of  his  every-day  life. 

Having  come  to  the  conclusion  that  his  best  plan  would  be  to  paaa 
the  few  remaining  hours  of  the  night  under  the  ceiba,  he  made  no  further 
delay  by  the  Duppy's  Hole ;  but  turning  into  the  path  that  led  down  the 
slope,  he  proceeded  back  towards  the  glade,  where  Herbert  Vaughan  was 
to  give  him  rendezvous.  He  moved  down  the  mountain  road,  slowly, 
and  with  some  degree  of  circumspection.  He  went  slowly,  because 
there  was  no  need  for  haste.  It  would  be  several  hours  before  the  young 
Englishman  should  be  in  the  glade.  As  already  stated,  a  little  after  sun- 
rise was  the  time  agreed  upon,  through  the  messenger  Quaco.  There 
was  no  particular  reason  for  Cubina's  being  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  glade 
— unless  he  wished  to  have  more  time  for  his  nap  under  the  tree. 

For  sleep,  however,  he  had  but  little  relish  just  then.  Wild  thoughts, 
consequent  on  the  strange  disclosures  he  had  listened  to,  were  passing 
through  his  mind  ;  and  these  were  sufficient  to  deprive  him  even  of  the 
power  to  sleep. 

He  moved  onward  with  circumspection  from  a  different  motive.  He 
knew  that  Jessuron,  in  returning  to  his  penn,  must  have  taken  the  same 
path.  Should  the  latter  be  loitering — sin«e  he  had  only  started  but  a  few 
minutes  before — Cubina  might  overtake  him  ;  and  he  had  no  wish  to  see 
any  more  of  the  Jew  for  that  night — or,  at  all  events,  to  be  himself  seen 
by  the  latter.  To  avoid  all  chance  of  an  encounter,  he  stopped  at  inter- 
vals, and  reconnoitred  the  wood  ahead  of  him. 

He  arrived  in  the  glade  without  seeing  either  Jew, Christian,  or  living 
being  of  any  kind.  The  penn-keeper  had  passed  through  a  good  while 
before.  Cubina  could  tell  this  by  an  observation  which  he  made  on  coin 
ing  out  into  the  open  ground.  A  mock-bird  perched  on  a  low  tree,  thai 
stood  directly  by  the  path,  was  singing  with  all  its  might.  The  Maroon 
had  heard  its  melody  long  before  entering  the  glade.  Had  any  one  pass- 
ed recently,  fhe  bird  would  have  iorsaken  its  perch — as  it  did  on  the  ap- 
f  roach  of  Cubina  himself. 

On  reaching  the  rendezvous,  'his  first  concern  was  to  kindle  a  fire. 
Sleep  in  a  wet  shirt  was  not  to  be  thought  of  ;  and  every  stitch  upon  his 
body  had  been  soaked  in  swimming  the  lagoon.  Otherwise,  it  would 
oot  have  mattered  about  a  fire.  He  had  nothing  to  cook  upon  it ;  nor 
was  he  hungry — having  already  eaten  his  supper. 

Kindled  by  a  woodman's  skill,  a  fire  soon  blazed  up ;  and  the  hunter 
stood  erect  beside  it,  turning  himself  at  intervals  to  dry  his  garmenta 
still  dripping  with  water. 

He  was  soon  smoking  all  over,  like  freshly  slaked  lime  ;  and,  in  order 
to  pass  the  time  more  pleasantljfyjie  commenced  smoking  in  another 


A   DAfcK   COMPACT.  247 

geiise — the  nicotian--]\\s  pipe  and  tobacco-pouch  afforclii  g  him  an  oppor 
tunity  for  this  indulgence. 

Posaibly  the  nicotine  may  have  stimulated  his  reflective  powers ;  foi 
he  had  not  taken  more  than  a  dozen  puffs  at  his  pipe,  when  a  sudden  and 
somewhat  uneasy  movement  seemed  to  say  that  some  new  reflection  had 
occurred  to  him.  Simultaneous  with  the  movement,  a  muttered  soliloquj 
fell  from  his  lips. 

"  Crambo  .'"  exciaimed  he,  giving  utterance  to  his  favourite  shibboleth } 
"  say  he  should  come  an  hour  after  sunrise — another  we  should  be  in  get- 
ting to  Mount  Welcome.  Pordios !  it  may  be  too  late  then  I  Who  knows 
what  time  the  Gustos  may  fancy  to  set  out?"  he  added,  after  a  pause  ;  "  1 
did  not  think  of  that.  How  stupid  of  me  not  to  have  asked  Yola! 

"  Crambo  /"  he  again  exclaimed,  after  another  interval  passed  in  a  silent 
reflection.  "  It  won't  do  to  leave  things  to  chance,  where  a  man's  life  is 
in  danger.  Who  knows  what  a  scheme  these  John  Crows  have  contrived? 
I  couldn't  hear  the  whole  of  their  palaver.  If  Master  Vaughan  was  only 
here,  we  might  go  to  Mount  Welcome  at  once.  Whatever  quarrel  he 
may  have  with  the  uncle,  he  won't  wish  to  let  him  be  murdered — no  fear 
of  that.  Besides,  the  young  fellow's  interference  in  this  matter,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  would  be  likely  to  make  all  right  between  them — I'd  like  that, 
both  for  his  sake  and  hers — ah !  hers  especially,  aftor  what  Tola's  told  me 
Santa  Virgin !  wouldn't  that  be  a  disappointment  to  the  old  dog  of  a  Jew  1 
Never  mind  ;  I'll  put  a  spark  in  his  powder  before  Le's  many  days  older. 
The  young  Englishman  must  know  all.  I'll  tell  him  all ;  and  after  that  if 
he  consents  to  become  the  son  in-law  of  Jacob  Jessurrn,he  would  deserve 
a  dog's Bah !  it  cannot  be  1  I  won't  believe  it  till  he  tells  me  so  him- 
self ;  and  then 

"  Pordios  !"  exclaimed  he,  suddenly  interrupting  the  above  train  of  re- 
flections  and  passing  to  another.  "  It  won't  do  for  me  to  stay  here  till  he 
comes.  Two  hours  after  sunrise,  and  the  Gustos  might  be  cold.  I'll  go 
down  to  the  Jew's  penn  at  once  ;  and  hang  about  till  I  see  young  Vaughan, 
He'll  be  stirring  about  daybreak,  and  that  11  save  an  hour,  anyhow.  A 
word  with  him,  and  we  can  soon  cross  to  Mount  Welcome." 

In  obedience  to  the  thought,  and  without  staying  to  complete  the  dry- 
Ing  of  his  habiliments,  the  Maroon  stepped  out  from  the  glade ;  and 
turning  into  the  track — little  used — that  led  towards  the  Happy  Valley, 
proceeded  in  that  direction. 


CHAPTER   LXXVHL 

A  DARK  COMPACT. 

ON  closing  so  abruptly  the  stormy  dialogue  with  his  daughter,  «»es8uroB 
proceeded  to  his  own  sleeping  apartment — like  the  others,  opening  upon 
the  verandah. 

Before  entering  the  room,  he  glanced  along  the  gallery,  towards  the 
suspended  hammock. 

In  that  hammock  slept  Herbert  Vaughan.  His  long  sea-voyage  had  ac- 
customed him  to  the  use  of  a  swing  couch—- even  to  a  liking  for  it ;  and 


248  A   DAEK   COMPACT. 

aa  the  night  was  warm,  he  had  preferred  the  hammock  to  his  bed  in  fb8 
contiguous  chamber. 

Jessuron  had  a  fear  that  the  angry  conversation  might  have  been  over* 
heard  by  the  occupant  of  the  hammock  ;  for,  in  the  excitement  of  temper, 
neither  he  nor  Judith  had  observed  the  precaution  of  speaking  low. 

The  hammock  hung  motionless,  oscillating  scarce  an  inch  ;  and  this  only 
under  the  influence  of  the  night  breeze  that  blew  gently  along  the  ve*ran- 
dah.  Its  occupant  appeared  to  be  in  the  middle  of  a  profound  slumber. 

Satisfied  of  this,  the  Jew  returned  to  his  own  chamber.  There  was  no 
light,  and  on  entering,  he  sat  down  in  the  darkness.  The  moon  shining  in 
through  the  window  gave  him  light  enough  to  discover  a  chair;  And  into 
that  he  had  flung  himself,  instead  of  seeking  his  couch. 

For  a  time  he  displayed  no  intention  either  of  undressing  or  betaking 
himself  to  bed  ;  but  remained  in  the  high-backed  chair  in  which  he  had 
seated  himself,  buried  in  some  reflection,  silent  as  profound.  We  are 
permitted  to  know  his  thoughts. 

"  S'help  me,  she'll  marry  him !"  was  that  which  came  uppermost.  "  She 
will,  s'help  me  1"  continued  he,  repeating  the  reflection  in  an  altered  form, 
"  shpite  of  all  I  can  shay  or  do  to  prevent  her.  She  ish  a  very  deffil 
when  raished — and  she'll  have  her  own  way,  she  will.  Ach!  what  ish  to 
be  done  ? — what  ish  to  be  done  ?" 

Here  a  pause  occurred  in  the  reflections,  while  the  Jew,  with  puzzled 
brain,  was  groping  for  an  answer  to  his  mental  interrogatory. 

"  It  ish  of  no  ushe  1"  he  continued,  after  a  time,  the  expression  on  his 
face  showing  that  he  had  not  yet  received  a  definite  reply.  "  It'sh  no 
ushe  to  opposhe  her.  She'd  run  away  with  thish  young  man  to  a  cer- 
tainty 1 

"  I  might  lock  her  up,  but  that  ish  no  good.  She'd  contrive  to  eshcape 
sometime.  I  couldn't  a^Vaysh keep  her  under  lock  and  key?  No — no, it 
ish  Imposhible ! 

"  And  if  she  marriesh  him  without  the  monish — without  the  great 
BhTlgar  eshtate  I  Blesh  me  1  that  ish  ruin  I 

"It  musht  not  be.  If  she  marriesh  him  she  musht  marry  Mount  Wel- 
come. She  musht !  she  musht ! 

"  But  how  ish  it  to  be  ?    How  ish  he  to  be  made  the  heir  ?" 

Again  the  Jew  appeared  to  puzzle  his  brains  for  an  answer  to  this  last 
interrogatory. 

"  Ha !"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  at  the  same  time  starting  from  his  chair,  as 
if  the  iolution  had  discovered  itself;  "  I  hash  it! — the  Spaniards?  I  hash 
it! 

"  Yesh,"  he  continued,  striking  the  ferrule  of  his  umbrella  against  the 
floor,  "  theesh  are  the  very  fellows  for  the  shob — worth  a  schore  of 
Shakra's  shpells,  and  hish  bottles  to  boot !  There  ish  no  fear  that  their 
"sedishin  will  fail.  S'help  me,  no  !  Now,  ash  I  think  of  it,"  continued  he, 
*  that  ish  the  plan — the  very  besht.  There  is  no  other  safe  and  sure  like 
that  ish  I  Ha  I  Cushtos  I  you  shan't  eshcape  yet.  Ha !  Shoodith,  mine 
rirl,  you  ish  welcome  to  your  way  ;  you  shall  have  the  young  man  after 
mil!" 

On  giving  utterance  to  those  ambiguous  speeches,  the  Jew  dropped 
back  into  his  chair,  and  sat  fa?  some  minutes  in  silent  but  earnest  medita- 
tion. 


A   BAKtf   COJTPA01*.  249 

The  matter  of  his  meditation  may  be  known  by  tLe  act  that  followed. 

"  There  ishn't  an  hour  to  be  losht !  muttered  he,  starting  to  his  feet,  and 
fcurriecfly  making  for  the  door ;  "  no,  not  ash  much  ash  a  minute.  I 
musht  see  them  now.  The  Cushtps  is  to  shtart  at  sunrishe.  The  wench 
hash  said  it.  They'll  joosht  have  time  to  get  upon  hish  track.  S'help  me," 
he  added,  opening  the  door,  and  glancing  up  at  the  sky,  "  ash  I  live  it'sh 
mcsht  sunrishe  now." 

Sticking  his  beaver  firmly  upon  his  head,  and  taking  a  fresh  clutch  of 
Ithe  everlasting  umbrella,  he  rushed  rapidly  out  of  the  verandah,  crossed 
I  the  courtyard,  re-passed  the  porter  at  his  own  gate,  and  then,  traversing 
the  little  incloeure  outside,  stood  in  the  open  fields. 

He  did  not  stand  long — only  to  look  around  him,  and  see  that  the 
ground  was  clear  of  stragglers. 

Satisfied  on  this  head,  he  proceeded  onward. 

At  the  distance  of  three  or  four  hundred  yards  from  the  outside  stock- 
ade stood  a  detached  cabin,  more  than  half  hidden  among  the  trees. 

Towards  this  he  directed  his  steps. 

Five  minutes  sufficed  for  him  to  reach  it ;  and,  on  arriving  at  the  door, 
he  knocked  upon  it  with  the  butt  of  his  umbrella. 

"  Quien  es  ?"  spoke  a  voice  from  within. 

"  It'sh  me,  Manuel — me — Shessuron  1"  replied  the  Jew. 

"It's  the  'Dueno'"  (master),  was  heard  muttering  one  of  the  other — 
for  the  cabin  was  the  dwelling  of  these  notable  negro-hunters. 

"  Carajol  what  does  the  old  ladron  want  at  this  hour?"  interrogated 
the  first  speaker,  in  his  own  tongue,  which  he  knew  was  not  understood 
by  the  Jew.  "  Maldito!"  added  he,  in  a  grumbling  voice  ;  "  it's  not  very 
pleasant  to  be  waked  up  in  this  fashion.  Besides,  I  was  dreaming  of 
that  yellow-skin  that  killed  my  dogs.  I  thought  I  had  my  machete  up  to 
the  hilt  in  his  carcase.  What  a  pity  I  was  only  dreaming  itl" 

"  Ta-ta.'"  interrupted  the  other;  "be  silent.  Andres.  The  old  gan+ 
dero  is  impatient.  Vamos  !  I'm  coming,  Senor  Don  Jacob  1" 

"  Make  hashte,  then  1"  answered  the  Jew  frcm  without.  "  I  hash  im- 
portant bishness  with  both  of  yoush." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  ;  and  he  who  answered  to  the  name  of 
Manuel  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

Without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  Jessuron  stepped  inside  the  cabin. 

"  Does  your  business  require  a  candle,  senor  ?"  inquired  the  Spaniard, 

"  No — no  1"  answered  the  Jew,  quickly  and  impressively,  as  if  to  pre- 
vent the  striking  of  a  light.  M  It  ish  only  talk  ;  we  can  do  it  in  the  dark- 
ness." 

And  darkness,  black  and  profound,  was  most  appropriate  to  the  con- 
versation that  followed.  Its  theme  was  murder — the  murder  of  Loftui 
Vaughan I 

The  plan  proposed  was  for  the  two  Spaniards — fit  instruments  for  such 
purpose — to  waylay  the  Gustos  upon  the  road — in  some  dark  defile  of  the 
forest — anywhere — it  mattered  not,  so  long  as  it  was  on  this  side  of 
Bpanish  Town. 

"  Fifty  poundsh  apeesh ;  goot  island  currenshy,"  was  the  reward 
promised — offered  and  accepted. 

Jeasuron  instructed  his  brace  of  entrepreneurs  in  all  the  details  of  tho 
plan.  He  had  learnt  from  Cynthia  tkat  the  Gustos  intended  to  take  th« 


250  RTATtlNG   THE   SLEEPER. 

southern  road,  sailing  at  Savanna-la-Mer.  It  was  a  roundabout  way  to 
the  capital;  but  Jessuron  had  his  supicions  why  that  route  had  been 
chosen.  He  knew  that  Savanna  was  the  assize  town  of  Cornwall ;  and 
the  Gustos  might  have  business  there  relating  to  himself,  Prince  Cinglies, 
and  his  two  dozen  Mandingoes ! 

It  was  not  necessary  to  instruct  the  '  ca9adores'  in  these  multifarious 
matters.  There  was  no  time  to  use  on  any  other  thaii  the  details  of  their 
murderous  plan;  and  these  were  made  known  to  them  with  the  rapidiu 
of  rapine  itself. 

In  lees  than  twenty  minutes  from  the  tune  he  had  entered  the  calm  , 
the  Jew  issued  out  again  ;  and  walked  back  with  joyous  mien  and  agile 
step  towards  his  dark  dwelling. 


CHAPTER   LXXIX. 

STAKING     THE     SLEEPER. 

CUBINA,  on  arriving  near  the  precincts  of  the  penn,  moved  forward  with 
increased  caution.  He  knew  that  the  penn-keeper  was  accustomed  to 
keep  dogs  and  night  watchers  around  his  inclosure,  not  only  to  prevent 
his  cattle  and  other  quadrupeds  from  straying,  but  also  the  black  bipeds 
that  filled  his  baracoons. 

The  Maroon  was  conscious,  moreover,  that  his  own  attitude  towards 
the  slave-merchant  was,  at  this  time,  one  of  extreme  hostility.  His  re- 
fusal to  restore  the  runaway  had  been  a  declaration  of  open  war  between 
them  ;  and  the  steps  he  had  since  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  Gustos — 
which  he  now  knew  to  be  no  longer  a  secret  to  the  slave-dealer — could 
not  otherwise  than  render  him  an  object  of  the  Jew's  most  bitter  hatred. 

Knowing  all  this,  he  felt  the  necessity  of  caution  in  approaching  the 
place  ;  for  should  the  penn-keeper's  people  find  him  prowling  about  the 
premises,  they  would  be  certain  to  capture  him,  if  they  could,  and  carry 
him  before  Jacob  Jessuron,  J.  P.,  where  he  might  expect  to  be  treated 
to  a  little  "justices' justice." 

With  this  prospect  before  him,  in  the  event  of  being  detected,  he  ap- 
proached the  Jew's  dwelling  as  cautiously  as  if  he  had  been  a  burglar 
about  to  break  into  it. 

It  was  towards  the  back  of  the  house  that  he  was  advancing  from  the 
fields — or  rather,  the  side  of  it,  opposite  to  that  on  which  lay  the  cattle 
and  slave  incloeures. 

He  had  made  a  short  circuit  to  approach  by  this  side,  conjecturing  that 
the  others  would  be  more  likely  to  be  guarded  by  the  slave  and  cattle 
watchers. 

The  fields,  half  returned  to  the  condition  of  a  forest,  rendered  it  easy 
to  advance  under  cover.  A  thick,  second  growth  of  logwood,  bread-nut 
and  calabash  trees  covered  the  ground ;  and  nearer  the  walls  the  old 
garden,  now  ruinate,  still  displayed  a  profusion  of  fruit  trees  growing  in 
wild  luxuriance,  such  a  guavas,  mangoes,  paw-paws,  orange  and  lemon, 
sops,  custard-apples,  the  akee,  and  avocada  pear.  Here  and  there  a  co- 
raised  its  tufted  crown  far  above  tha  topmost  spruf  ui  the 


THE  SLEEPES8.  251 

humbler  fruit  trees,  its  long,  feathery  fronds  gently  oscillating  undei  the 
silent  zephyrs  of  the  night. 

On  getting  within  about  a  hundred  yards  of  the  house,  Cubina  formed 
the  intention  not  to  go  any  nearer  just  then.  The  plan  he  had  traced  out 
was  to  station  himself  in  some  position  where  he  could  command  a  view 
of  the  verandah — or  as  much  of  it  as  it  was  possible  to  see  from  on« 
place.  There  he  would  remain  until  daybreak. 

His  conjecture  was,  that  Herbert  Vaughan  would  make  his  appearam^ 
as  soon  as  the  day  broke,  and  this  was  all  the  more  probable  on  account 
of  his  engagement  with  the  Maroon  himself. 

The  'protege'  of  Jessuron  would  show  himself  in  the  verandah  on  leav-' 
ing  his  chamber.    He  could  not  do  otherwise,  since  all  the  sleeping-rooms 
— and  Cubina  knew  this — opened  outward  upon  the  gallery. 

Once  seen,  a  signal  by  some  means — by  Cubina  showing  himself  out- 
side, or  calling  the  young  Englishman  by  name— would  bring  about  the 
desired  interview,  and  hasten  the  execution  of  the  project  which  the 
Maroon  had  conceived. 

A  slight  elevation  of  the  ground,  caused  by  the  crumbling  ruins  of  an 
old  wall,  furnished  the  vidette  station  desired  ;  and  the  Maroon,  mounting 
upon  this,  took  his  stand  to  "watch  the  verandah.  He  could  see  the  long 
gallery  from  end  to  end  on  two  sides  of  the  dwelling,  and  knew  that  it 
extended  no  farther. 

Though  the  house  glistened  under  a  clear  moonlight,  the  verandah  it- 
self was  in  shade  ;  as  was  also  the  courtyard  in  front — the  old  grey  pile 
projecting  its  sombre  shadow  beyond  the  walls  that  surrounded  it.  At 
the  end,  however,  the  moonbeams,  slanting  diagonally  from  the  sky, 
poured  their  light  upon  the  floor  of  the  verandah,  there  duplicating  the 
strong,  bar-like  railing  with  which  the  gallery  was  inclosed. 

The  Maroon  had  not  bean  many  minutes  upon  the  stand  he  had  taken 
when  an  object  in  the  verandah  arrested  his  attention.  As  his  eye  be- 
came more  accustomed  to  the  shadowy  darkness  inside,  he  was  able  to 
make  out  something  that  resembled  a  hammock,  suspended  crosswise, 
and  at  some  height  above  the  balustrade  of  the  verandah.  It  was  ncui 
that  end  where  the  moonlight  fell  upon  the  floo% 

As  the  moon  continued  to  sink  lower  in  the  sky,  her  beams  were  flung 
farther  along  the  gallery  ;  and  the  object  which  had  attracted  the  at  tea- 
ion  of  Cubina  came->more  into  the  light.  It  was  a  hammock,  and  evidently 
occupied.  The  taut  cordage  told  that  some  one  was  inside  it. 

"  If  it  should  be  the  young  Englishman  himself  1"  was  the  conjectural 
reflection  of  Cubina. 

If  so,  it  might  be  possible  to  communicate  with  him  at  once,  and  save 
the  necessity  of  waiting  till  the  day-break  ? 

How  was  the  Maroon  to  be  satisfied  that  it  was  he  ?  It  might  be 
eome  one  else  ?  It  might  be  Havener,  the  overseer ;  and  Cubina  desired 
no  conversation  with  him.  What  step  could  he  take  to  solve  this  Uih 
certainty  ? 

As  the  Maroon  was  casting  about  for  some  scheme  that  would  triable 
him  to  discover  who  was  the  occupant  of  the  hammock,  he  noticed  that 
the  moonbeams  had  now  crept  nearly  up  to  it,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more 
be  shining  full  upon  it.  He  could  already  perceive,  though  verj 


ST^i'LVG    't'Ml':   SLEEi'KS. 

dimly,  the  face  and  part  of  the  form  of  the  sleeper  inside.  Gould  he 
only  get  to  some  elevated  position  a  little  nearer  to  the  house,  he  might 
t-e  able  to  make  out  who  it  waa. 

He  scanned  the  ground  with  a  quick  glance.  A  position  sufficientlj 
elevated  presented  itself,  but  one  not  so  easily  to  be  reached.  A  cocoa 
nut  palm  stood  near  the  wall,  whose  crest  of  radiating  fronds  overlooked 
the  verandah,  drooping  towards  it.  Could  he  but  reach  this  tree  unob- 
served, and  climb  up  to  its  crown,  he  might  command  a  close  view  D! 
|  him  who  slept  in  the  swinging  couch. 

A  second  sufficed  to  determine  him  ;  and,  crawling  silently  forward,  he 
clasped  the  stem  of  the  cocoa-tree,  and  "  swarmed"  upward.  The  feat 
was  nothing  to  Cubina,  who  could  climb  like  a  squirrel. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  palm,  he  placed  himself  in  the  centre 
of  its  leafy  crown — where  he  had  the  verandah  directly  under  his  eyes, 
and  so  near  that  he  could  almost  have  sprung  into  it. 

The  hammock  was  within  ten  feet  of  him,  in  a  downward  direction. 
He  could  have  pitched  his  tobacco  pipe  upon  the  face  of  the  sleeper. 
The  moonlight  was  now  full  upon  it.  It  was  the  face  of  Herbert 
Vaughan I 

Cubina  recognised  it  at  the  first  glance ;  and  he  was  reflecting  how 
he  could  awake  the  young  Englishman  without  causing  an  alarm,  whe» 
'"  be  heard  a  door  turn  upon  it«  hinges.    The  sound  came  up  from  the  court- 
yard ;  and  on  looking  in  that  direction,  Cubina  saw  that  the  gate  leading 
out  to  the  cattle  inclosure  was  in  the  act  of  being  opened. 

Presently  a  man  passed  through,  entering  from  the  outside  ;  and  the 
gate,  by  some  other  person  unseen,  was  closed  behind  him. 

He  who  had  entered  walked  directly  towards  the  dwelling;  and, 
mounting  the  steps,  made  his  way  into  the  verandah. 

While  crossing  the  courtyard,  the  moonlight,  for  a  moment,  fell  upon 
his  face,  discovering  to  Ca&ma  the  sinister  countenance  of  the  Jew. 

"  I  must  have  passed  h;M  on  the  path  ?"  reflected  the  Maroon.  "  But 
no,  that  couldn't  be,"  he  added,  correcting  himself;  "I  saw  his  return 
track  in  the  mud-hole  just  by.  He  must  have  got  here  before  me.  Like 
enough,  he's  been  back,  and,  out  again  on  some  other  dark  tusineai. 
Crambo !  it's  true  enough  what  I've  heard  say  of  him ;  that  he  hardly 
ever  goes  to  sleep,  Our  people  have  met  him  in  the  woods  at  all  hours 

iof  the  night.  I  can  understand  it  now  that  I  know  the  partner  he's  got 
up  there.  For  Dios!  to  think  of  Chakra  being  still  alive !" 
The  Maroon  paused  in  his  reflections ;  and  kept  his  eye  sharply  bent 
upon  the  shadowy  form  that,  like  a  spirit  of  darkness,  was  silently  flit- 
ting through  the  corridor.  He  was  in  hopes  that  the  Jew  would  soon 
retire  to  his  chamber. 

So  long  as  the  latter  remained  outside,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
chance  for  Cubina  to  communicate  with  the  occupant  of  the  hammock 
without  being  observed.  Worse  than  that,  the  Maroon  was  now  in  dan* 
ger  of  being  himself  seen.  Exposed  as  he  was  upon  the  cocoa — with 
nothing  to  shelter  him  from  observation  but  its  few  straggling  fronds — 
he  ran  every  risk  of  his  presence  being  detected.  It  was  just  a  question 
of  whether  the  Jew  might  have  occasion  to  look  upwards ;  if  BO,  he 
could  scarce  fail  to  perceive  the  dark  ailhouett  of  a  man,  outlined  as  it 
was  against  the  light  blue  of  the  sky. 


A   MISSION    FOB   THE   MAN-HUNTERS. 

That  would  be  a  discovery  of  which  Cubina  dreaded  the  consequences, 
and  with  reason.  It  might  not  only  frustrate  the  intended  interview  with 
the  young  Englishman,  but  might  end  in  his  own  capture  and  detention—- 
the last  a  contingency  especially  to  be  avoided. 

Under  the  apprehension  the  Maroon  stirred  neither  hand  nor  foot ;  but 
kept  himself  siJent  and  rigid.  In  this  attitude  of  immobility  he  looked 
like  some  statue,  placed  iii  sedentary  posture  upon  the  summit  of  the 
Corinthian  column — the  crushed  crocus  represented  by  the  fronds  of  th;^ 
palm-tree. 


I 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

A    MISSION    FOB    THIC    MAN-HUNTERS. 

CUBIXA  for  since  time  preserved  his  constrained  position.  He  dared  not 
derange  it ;  since  the  Jew  still  stayed  in  the  shadowy  corridor — some* 
times  moving  about;  but  more  generally  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
wooden  stairway,  and  looking  across  the  courtyard,  towards  the  gate 
through  which  he  had  come  in.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  expecting  some 
one  to  enter  after  him. 

This  conjecture  of  Cubina's  proved  correct.  The  great  gate  was 
heard  once  more  turning  on  its  hinges  ;  and,  after  a  word  or  two  spoken 
by  the  black  porter  outside,  and  answered  by  a  voice  of  different  tone, 
two  men  were  seen  stepping  inside  the  court. 

As  they  passed  under  the  moonlight,  Cubina  recognised  them.  Their 
lithe,  supple  forms,  and  swarthy  angular  lineaments,  enabled  him  to  iden- 
tify the  Spanish  cacadores. 

They  walked  straight  up  to  the  stairway,  at  the  bottom  of  which  both 
stopped. 

The  Jew  on  seeing  them  inside  the  gate,  had  gone  back  into  a  room 
that  opened  upon  the  verandah. 

He  was  gone  but  for  an  instant ;  and,  coming  out  again,  he  returned  to 
the  top  of  the  stairway. 

One  of  the  Spaniards,  stepping  up,  reached  out,  and  received  some- 
thing from  his  hand.  What  it  was  Cubina  could  not  have  told,  but  for 
the  words  of  the  Jew  that  accompanied  the  action. 

"  There'sh  the  flashk,"  said  he  ;  "  it  ish  the  besht  brandy  in  Shamaica. 
And  now,"  he  continued,  in  an  accent  of  earnest  appeal,  "  my  goot  fel- 
Ush !  you  bashn't  a  minute  to  shpare.  Remember  the  big  monish  you're 
to  gain  ;  and  don't  let  thish  runaway  eshcape !" 

*  No  fear  about  that,  Senor  Don  Jacob,"  replied  he  who  received  the 
flask.  "  Carraia  I  he'll  have  long  legs  to  get  out  of  our  way — once  we're 
well  on  the  trail  of  him." 

And  without  further  dialogue  or  delay,  the  cacadore  descended  the  stair, 
rejoined  his  comrade,  and  both  hurriedly  re-crossing  the  courtyard,  dis- 
appeared through  the  door  by  which  they  had  entered. 

An  expedition  after  some  poor  slave  1"  muttered  Cubina  to  himself, 
the  scoundrels  won't  catch  him  anyhow,  and  I  pity  him  i 


254  A  MISSION  FOR  THE  MAN-BANTERS. 

do.  After  all,  they're  no  great  hands  at  the  business,  spite  of  theii 
braggadocio." 

With  this  professional  reflection,  the  Maroon  once  more  bent  his  eye* 
upon  the  form  that  remained  in  the  shadow  of  the  verandah. 

"  Surely,"  conjectured  he,  "  the  old  John  Crow  will  now  go  to  his  roost  ? 
Or  has  he  more  of  the  like  business  on  hand  ?  Till  he's  got  out  of  that 
T  can't  make  a  move.  I  darn't  stir — not  for  the  life  of  me  I" 

To  the  joy  of  Cubina,  the  Jew  at  that  moment  stepped  back  into  his 

fharaber — the  door  of  which  had  been  left  standing  open. 
"  Good !"  mentally  ejaculated  the  Maroon  ;    "  I  hope  he'll  stay  in  hia 
'  bole,  now  that  he's  in  it.   I  don't  want  to  see  anymore  of  him  this  night. 
'  Crambo .'" 

An  exclamation  indicated,  that  the  congratulatory  speech  was  cut  short 
by  the  re-appearance  of  the  Jew  ;  not  in  his  blue  body-coat,  as  before,  but 
wrapped  in  a  sort  of  gabardine,  or  ample  dressing-gown,  the  skirta  of 
which  fell  down  to  his  feet.  His  hat  had  been  removed — though  the 
skull  cap,  of  dirty  whitish  hue,  still  clung  around  his  temples  ;  for  it  was 
never  doffed. 

To  the  consternation  of  Cubina  he  came  out,  dragging  a  chair  after 
him  ;  as  if  he  meant  to  place  it  in  the  verandah  and  take  seat  upon  it. 

And  this  was  precisely  his  intention,  for  after  drawing  the  chair — a 
high-backed  one — out  into  the  middle  of  the  gallery,  he  planted  it  firmly 
upon  the  floor,  and  then  dropped  down  into  it. 

The  moment  after  Cubina  saw  sparks  accompanied  by  a  sound  that  in- 
dicated the  concussion  of  a  flint  and  steel.  The  Jew  was  striking  a 
light! 

For  what  purpose ! 

The  smell  of  burning  tobacco  borne  along  the  gallery,  and  ascending 
to  Cubina's  nostrils  upon  the  summit  of  the  palm,  answered  that  question. 
A  red  coal  could  be  seen  gleaming  between  the  nose  and  chin  of  the 
Israelite.  He  was  smoking  a  cigar  ! 

Cubina  saw  this  with  chagrin.  How  long  would  the  operation  last  ? 
Hall  an  hour — an  hour,  perhaps  ?  Ay,  maybe  till  daybreak — now  not 
very  distant? 

The  situation  had  changed  for  the  worse.    The  Maroon  could  not  make 
the  slightest  move  towards  the  awakening  of  Herbert.    He  dared  not 
shift  his  own  position,  lest  his  presence  should  be  betrayed  to  the  Jew. 
1  He  da^ed  not  stir  upon  the  tree,  much  less  come  down  from  it  1 

He?s^  that  he  was  in  a  fix  ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  must 
wait  till  the  Jew  had  finished  his  cigar  ;  though  there  was  no  certainty 
that  even  that  would  bring  the  '  seance'  to  a  termination. 

Summoning  all  the  patience  he  could  command,  he  kept  his  perch, 
•ilertf  and  motionless,  though  anxious  and  suffering  from  chagrin. 

For  a  long  hour,  at  least,  did  he  continue  in  this  desperate^  dilemma— 
Until  his  limbs  ached  underneath  him,  and  his  composure  was  well  nigh 
exhausted.  Still  the  Jew  stuck  to  his  chair,  as  if  glued  to  the  seat — 
silent  and  Motionless  as  Cubina  himself. 

The  latter  fancied  that  not  only  a  first  cigar,  but  a  second,  and,  per- 
haps, a  third,  had  been  lighted  and  smoked  ;  but  in  the  sombre  shadow, 
in  which  the  smoker  sat,  he  could  not  be  certain  how  many.  More  than 


A   STARTLING    SUMMONS.  255 

one,  however  from  the  time  spent  in  the  operation  ;  for  during  the  full 
period  of  an  hour  a  red  coal  could  bo  seen  glowing  at  the  tip  :>f  that 
aquiline  proboscis. 

Cubina  now  perceived  what  troubled  him  exceedingly — the  blue  dawn 
breaking  over  the  tops  of  the  trees  1  By  slightly  turning  his  head  Le 
could  see  the  golden  gleam  of  sunlight  tinting  the  summit  of  the  Jumbt 
Rock! 

Crambo  !  what  was  to  be  done  ?    So  ran  his  reflections. 

If  he  stayed  there  much  longer  he  might  be  sure  of  being  discovered. 
The  slaves  would  soon  be  starting  to  their  work — the  overseer  and 
drivers  would  be  out  and  about.  One  or  other  could  not  fail  to  see  him 
upon  the  tree  ?  He  would  be  lucky  now  to  escape  himself,  without 
thinking  any  longer  of  the  hammock  or  him  who  slept  within  its  tight- 
drawn  meshes. 

While  considering  how  he  might  slip  unperceived  from  the  tree,  he 
glanced  once  more  toward  the  occupant  of  the  chair.  The  gradually 
brightening  dawn,  which  had  been  filling  him  with  apprehension,  now 
favoured  him.  It  enabled  him  to  perceive  that  the  Jew  was  asleep  ! 

With  his  head  thrown  back  against  the  sloping  upholstery,  Jessuron 
had  at  last  surrendered  1o  the  powerful  divinity  of  dreams.  His  goggles 
were  off;  and  Cubina  could  see  that  the  wrinkled  lids  were  closed  over 
his  sunken  orbs. 

Undoubtedly  he  was  asleep.  His  whole  attitude  confirmed  it.  His 
legs  lay  loosely  over  the  front  of  the  chair — his  arms  hung  down  at  the 
sides  ;  and  the  blue  umbrella  rested  upon  the  floor  at  his  feet.  The  last 
evidence  of  somnolency  was  not  even  counterbalanced  by  the  stump  of 
a  cigar,  burnt  close,  and  still  sticking  between  his  teeth  I 


CHAPTER   LYYYL 

A     STARTLING     SUMMONS. 

ON  the  part  of  Cubina  it  was  now  a  struggle  between  prudence  and  a 
desire  to  carry  out  his  original  programme — whether  he  should  not  go  off 
alone,  or  still  try  to  communicate  with  the  sleeper  in  the  hammock. 

la  the  former  case  he  could  return  to  the  glade,  and  there  await  the 
coming  of  Herbert  Vaughan  as  at  first  fixed.  But  by  so  doing,  at  least 
two  hours  would  be  lost ;  and  even  then,  would  the  young  Englishman 
be  punctual  to  his  appointment? 

Even  against  his  inclination  something  might  occur  to  cause  delay — a 
thing  all  the  more  probable,  considering  the  circumstances  that  surround- 
ed him ;  considering  the  irregularity  of  events  in  the  domicile  where  he 
dwelt. 

But  even  a  delay  of  two  hours  I  In  that  interval  Loftus  Vaughau 
might  have  ceased  to  livel 

These  thoughts  coursed  quickly  through  the  mind  of  the  Maroon— ac- 
customed as  it  was  to  perceptions  almost  intuitive.  He  saw  that  he 
must  either  go  by  himself  to  Mount  Welcome,  or  awake  the  sleeper  at 


206  A   STARTLING  StJMMOTf!. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  decided  on  the  former  course,  but  that  he  had 
other  motives  for  an  interview  with  Herbert  Vaughan,  almost  as  imme- 
diate in  their  necessity  as  that  which  related  to  the  safety  of  the  Gustos. 
He  had  as  yet  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  peril  in  which  the  planter 
stood  was  so  proximate  as  it  really  was :  for  it  never  occured  to  him 
that  the  departure  of  the  two  Spaniards  had  any  other  object  than  thai 
which  related  to  their  calling — the  capture  of  some  runaway  slave. 

Had  he  suspected  the  design  of  the  two  ruffians — had  he  known  the 
mission  of  murder  on  which  the  slave-merchant  had  despatched  them — 
he  would  scarce  have  stayed  for  aught  else  than  to  have  provided  the* 
means  of  intercepting  their  design. 

In  the  dark  about  all  this,  he  aid  not  believe  there  was  such  necessity 
for  extreme  haste ;  though  he  knew  something  was  on  foot  against  the 
Gustos  which  would  not  allow  of  much  loss  of  time. 

At  that  moment  the  occupant  of  the  hammock  turned  over  with  a 
yawn. 

"  He  is  going  to  awake  !"  thought  Cubina  ;  "  now  is  my  time." 

To  the  disappointment  of  the  Maroon,  the  limbs  of  the  speaker  again 
became  relaxed  ;  and  he  returned  to  a  slumber  profound  as  before. 

"  What  a  pity  I"  murmured  the  Maroon ;  "  if  I  could  only  speak  a  word 

But  no.    Yonder  John  Crow  is  more  like  to  hear  it  than  he.    I 

shall  throw  something  down  into  the  hammock.    Maybe  that  will  awake 
him  ?" 

Cubina  drew  out  his  tobacco-pipe.  It  was  the  only  thing  he  could 
think  of  at  the  moment ;  and,  guiding  his  arm  with  a  good  aim,  he  pitch- 
ed it  into  the  hammock. 

It  fell  upon  the  breast  of  the  sleeper.  It  was  too  light  It  awoke  him 
not. 

"  Giambo !  he  sleeps  like  an  owl  at  noontide !  What  can  I  do  to  make 
him  feel  me  ?  If  I  throw  down  my  machete,  I  shall  lose  the  weapon  ;  and 
who  knows  I  may  not  need  it  before  I'm  out  of  this  scrape  ?  Ha !  one  of 
these  cocoa-nuts  will  do.  That,  I  dare  say,  will  be  heavy  enough  to  star- 
tle him." 

Saying  this,  the  Maroon  bent  downward;  and  extending  his  arm 
through  the  fronds  beneath  him,  detached  one  of  the  gigantic  nuts  from 
the  tree. 

Poising  it  for  a  moment  to  secure  the  proper  direction,  he  flung  the 
ponderous  fruit  upon  the  breast  of  Herbert    Fortunately,  the  sides  of 
the  hammock  hindered  it  from  falling  upon  the  floor,  else  the  concussion  | 
might  also  have  awakened  the  sleeper  in  the  chair. 

With  a  start,  the  young  Englishman  awoke,  at  the  same  time  raising 
himself  upon  his  elbow.  Herbert  Vaughan  was  not  one  of  the  exclama- 
tory kind,  or  he  might  have  cried  out.  He  did  not,  however,  though  the 
sight  of  the  huge  brown  pericarp,  lying  between  his  legs,  caused  him 
considerable  surprise. 

"  Where,  in  the  name  of  Ceres  and  Pomona,  did  you  rain  down  from  ?" 
muttered  he,  at  the  same  time  turning  his  eyes  up  for  an  answer  to  his 
classical  interrogatory. 

In  the  grey  light,  he  perceived  the  palm,  its  tall  column  rising  majesti- 
cally above  him.  He  knew  the  tree  well,  every  inch  of  its  outlines ;  but 


BLUB   DIG*.  257 

the  dark  tilhouette  on  its  top — the  form  of  a  human  being   euchant  and 
crouching — that  was  strange  to  him. 

The  light,  however,  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to  enable  him  to  distin- 
guish, not  only  the  form,  but  the  face  and  features  of  his  cidevant  enter- 
tainer under  the  greenwood  tree — the  Maroon  captain,  Cubina ! 

Before  he  could  say  a  word  to  express  his  astonishment,  a  gesture 
followed  by  a  muttered  speech  from  the  Maroon,  enjoined  him  to  silence 

*  Hush  not  a  word,  Master  Vaughan !"  spoke  the  latter,  in  a  half 
whisper,  at  the  same  time  that  he  glanced  significantly  along  the  corridor. 
"  Slip  out  of  your  hammock,  get  your  hat,  and  follow  me  into  the  forest 
I  have  news  for  you — important!  Life  and  death!  Steal  out ;  and,  for 
your  life,  don't  let  him  see  you  1" 

"Who  ?"  inquired  Herbert,  also  speaking  in  a  whisper. 

"  Look  yonder  1"  said  the  Maroon,  pointing  to  the  sleeper  in  the  chair. 

"All  right!    Well?" 

"Meet  me  in  fhe  glade.  Come  at  once — not  a  minute  to  be  loatl 
Those  who  should  be  dear  to  you  are  in  dangerl" 

"  I  shall  come,"  said  Herbert,  making  a  motion  to  extricate  himself 
from  the  hammock. 

"  Enough !    I  must  begone.    You  will  find  me  under  the  cotton-tree." 

As  he  said  this,  the  Maroon  forsook  his  seat — so  long  and  irksomely 
preserved — and,  sliding  down  the  slender  trunk  of  the  palm,  like  a  sailor 
descending  the  mainstay  of  his  ship,  he  struck  off  at  a  trot,  and  soon  dis- 
appeared amid  the  second-growth  of  the  old  sugar  plantation. 

Herbert  Vaughan  was  not  slow  to  follow  upon  his  track.  Some  dis- 
closures of  recent  occurrence — so  recent  as  the  day  preceding — had  pre- 
pared him  for  a  somewhat  bizarre  finale  to  the  fine  life  he  had  of  late  been 
leading ;  and  he  looked  to  the  Maroon  for  enlightenment.  But  that 
strange  speech  of  Cubina  stimulated  him  more  than  all.  "  Those  who 
should  be  dear  to  you  are  in  danger  /" 

There  was  but  one  being  in  the  world  entitled  to  this  description.  Kate 
Vaughan !  Could  it  be  she  ? 

Herbert  staved  not  to  reflect.  His  hat  and  cloak  hung  in  the  chambei 
close  by ;  and  in  two  seconds  of  time  both  were  upon  him.  Another 
second  sufficed  tc  give  him  possession  of  his  gun.^ 

He  was  too  active,  too  reckless,  to  care  for  a  stairway  at  that  moment, 
or  at  that  height  from  the  ground — too  prudent  to  descend  by  that  which 
there  was  in  front,  though  guarded  only  by  a  sleeper  1 

Laying  his  leg  over  the  balustrade,  he  leaped  to  the  earth  below ;  and 
following  the  path  taken  by  the  Maroon,  like  him,  was  soon  lost  among 
the  second-growth  of  the  ruinate  garden. 

CHAPTER   LXXXTT. 

BLUB  DICK. 

In  making  his  hurried  departure  from  the  Happy  Valley,  Herbert  Van 
ghan  narrowely  escaped  observation.  A  delay  of  ten  minutes  longei 
would  have  led  to  his  design  being  interrupted ;  or,  at  all  events,  to  hii 
being  questioned  as  to  the  object  of  jjis  early  excursion  j  and  in  all  pro 
bability,  followed  and  watched. 


258  BLUE  DIOK. 

He  had  scarce  passed  out  of  sight  of  the  penn,  when  he  heard  th« 
jangling  tones  of  a  swing  bell — harshly  reverberating  upon  the  still  air 
of  the  morning'. 

The  sounds  did  not  startle  him.  He  knew  it  was  not  an  alarm  ;  only 
the  plantation  bell,  summoniDg  the  slaves  to  enter  upon  their  daily  toil. 

Knowing  that  it  must  have  awakened  the  sleeper  in  the  chair,  ho  con- 
gratulated himself  on  his  good  luck  at  getting  away,  before  the  signal  had 
been  wounded — at  the  same  time  that  it  caused  him  to  quicken  his  steps 
ji'owaids  the  rendezvous  given  by  the  Maroon. 

I  (Jubina,  though  from  a  greater  distance,  had  also  heard  the  bell,  and 
,  had  in  a  similar  manner  interpreted  the  signal,  though  with  a  greatei 
degree  of  uneasiness  as  to  the  effect  it  might  have  produced.  He,  too,  had 
conjectured,  that  the  sounds  must  have  awakened  the  sleeper  in  the 
chair. 

Both  had  reasoned  correctly.  At  the  first  "  ding-dong"  of  the  bell,  the 
Jew  had  been  startled  from  his  cat-like  slumber,  and  rising  erect  in  his 
seat,  he  glanced  uneasily  around  him. 

"Blesh  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed,  spitting  out  the  bit  of  burnt  cigar  that 
clung  adheringly  to  his  lips.  "  It  ish  broad  daylight !  I  musht  have  been 
ashleep  more  ash  two  hours.  Ach  !  theesh  are  times  for  a  man  to  keep 
awake.  The  Cushtos  should  be  on  hish  road  by  thish  ;  and  if  theesh 
Spanish  hunters  do  their  bishness  as  clefferly  ash  they  hash  promise, 
he'll  shleep  sounder  thish  night  ash  effer  he  hash  done  before.  Blesh  my 
soul  1"  he  again  exclaimed,  and  with  an  accent  that  betokened  a  change  in 
the  tenor  of  his  thoughts.  "  Supposhe  they  should  get  caught  in  the 
act?  Hal  what  would  be  the  Teshult  of  that?  There  ish  danger — 
shtrike  me  dead  if  there  ishn't!  Blesh  mel  I  ueffer  thought  of  it," 
continued  he,  after  some  moments  spent  in  reflection  of  an  apparently  anx- 
ious kind.  '*  They  might  turn  Kingsh'  evidence,  and  implicate  me — me 
a  shustice  !  To  save  themselves,  they'd  be  likely  enough  to  do  ash  much 
ash  that.  Yesh :  and  eefen  if  they  did'nt  get  taken  in  the  act,  sti.U  there 
ish  danger.  That  Manuel  hash  a  tongue  ash  long  ash  his  machete.  He'sh 
a  prattling  fool.  I  musht  take  care  to  get  him  out  of  the  island — both 
of  them — ash  soon  ash  I  can." 

In  his  apprehensions  the  Jew  no  longer  included  Chakra  :  for  he  was 
now  under  the  belief  that  the  dark  deed  would  be  accomplished  by  the 
Spanish  assassins ;  and  that  to  8teel,not  poison,  would  the  Gustos  yield  up 
his  hie. 

Even  should  Cynthia  have  succeeded  in  administering  the  deadly  dose 
— a  probability  on  which  he  no  longer  needed  to  rely — even  should  the 
Custos  succumb  to  poison,  the  myal-man  was  not  to  be  feared.  There 
was  no  danger  of  such  a  confederate  declaring  himself.  As  for  Cynthia, 
the  Jew  had  never  dealt  directly  with  her  ;  and  therefore  she  was  witl* 
out  power  to  implicate  him  in  the  hellish  contract. 

"  I  musht  take  some  shteps,"  said  he,  rising  from  his  chair,  and  making 
a  feint  towards  retiring  to  his  chamber,  as  if  to  adjust  his  dress.  "  Wha< 
ish  besht  to  be  done?  Let  me  think,"  he  added,  pausing  near  the  door, 
and  standing  in  an  attitr<>  *  of  reflection;  "yesh!  yesh !  that's  it  1  1 
musht  send  a  messensher  t  Mount  Welcome.  Some  one  can  go  on  a* 
excushe  of  bishness.  It  w  look  strange  since  we're  such  bad  neigh- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  ABSENCE.  259 

bouioh  of  latQ  ?  No  matter  for  that.  The  Cushtos  is  gone,  I  hope  ;  MM} 
Kafener  can  send  the  message  to  Mishter  Trusey.  That  will  bring  ash 
newsh.  Here,  Rafener  1"  continued  he,  calling  to  his  overseer,  who,  cart- 
whip  in  hand,  was  moving  through  the  court  below, "  I  want  ye,  Mishter 
Rafener  1" 

Ravener,  uttering  a  grunt  to  signify  that  he  had  heard  the  summon* 
stepped  up  to  the  stairway  of  the  verandah  ;  and  stood  silently  waiting 
to  know  for  what  he  was  wanted. 

"  Hash  you  any  bishness  about  which  you  could  send  a  messensher  tc 
Mishter  Trusty — to  Mount  Welcome,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Hump  1  There's  business  a  plenty  for  that.  Them  consarned  hogi 
of  the  Gustos  has  got  into  our  corn  patch  up  the  valley,  and  played  pitch 
and  toss  with  the  young  plants.  Ye  must  have  damages  for  it." 

"  That  ish  right— that  ish  right." 

"  Humph !  You  won't  say  it's  right  when  once  you've  seen  the  meu§ 
they've  made.  We'll  have  a  sorry  show  at  crop  time,  I  tell  ye." 

"  Neffer  mind  that — we'll  have  an  action.  Ish  not  let  it  pass  ;  but  joosh 
now  I  hash  other  bishness  on  hand.  You  send  a  messensher  to  Mishter 
Trusty  and  tell  him  about  it.  And  harksh  you,  Mishter  Rafener  I  I  want 
this  messensher  to  be  discreet.  I  want  him  to  find  out  whether  the 
Cushtos  ish  at  home — without  making  a  direct  ashking  about  it.  I  have 
heerd  that  he  ish  going  on  a  shourney ;  and  I  want  to  know  if  he  hash  set 
out  yet.  You  understand  me  ?" 

"  All  right,"  replied  Ravener,  with  an  air  that  betokened  comprehension. 
"  All  right  1  I'll  send  a  fellow  that'll  get  an  answer  to  that  question  with- 
out asking  it.  Blue  Dick  can  do  that." 

"  Ah !  true,  Blue  Dick  isb  the  one.  And  harken  you,  Mishter  Rafener  I 
tell  him  to  try  if  he  cwa  see  the  mulatta  wench,  Cynthy." 

"  What  is  he  to  pay  to  her  ?" 

"  He  ish  to  tell  her  to  come  ofer  here,  if  she  hash  an  oppprlunity.  I 
wants  to  shpeak  with  her.  But  mind  ye,  Mishter  Rafener  I  Dick  is  to  b« 
careful  what  he  saysh  and  doesh.  He  musht  talk  with  the  girl  only  in 
vhishpcrs." 

"  I'U  instruct  him  in  all  that,"  replied  the  overseer,  in  a  tone  of  confr 
dence.  "  You  want  him  to  go  now  ?" 

"  Thish  minute — thish  very  minute.  I  hash  a  reason  for  being  in  a 
Luriy.  Send  him  off  as  soon  ash  you  can." 

Havener,  without  further  parley,  walked  off  to  dispatch  his  messenger  ; 
End  a  few  minutes  after  he  had  gone  out  of  the  court,  that  yellow  "  com- 
plected" Mercury,  known  by  the  soubriquet  of  "  Blue  Dick"  was  seoa 
"  streaking"  it  along  the  path  which  conducted  from  the  Jew's  Penn  to 
^bo  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome. 


CHAPTER  LXXXHL 

THB     MY8TER';rJR     ABSENCE. 

THE   brief  conversation   between  Jessuron  ami  his   overbeer  had 
place  sotto  wee  :  as  it  was  not  ilesin;!;ie  it  should  be  overheard  by  any  one 
— much  k'ss  by  the  j.'phoTT  of  him  who  w*s  its  chief  subject"  a; id*  whf 


260  THE   MYSTERIOUS   ABSEN01* 

was  supposed  k>  be  suspended  in  a  hammock  not  ton  paces  from  Ae 
•pot. 

The  hammock,  however,  was  not  visible  from  the  front  stairway — being 
hung  in  that  part  of  the  verandah  that  extended  along  the  other  side  of 
the  house. 

On  the  departure  of  Havener  from  his  presence  the  Jew  proceeded 
with  his  original  intention — to  put  his  person  in  order  for  the  day. 

His  toilet  did  not  take  long.  After  a  very  brief  absence  within  hit 
room,  he  re-appeared  on  the  gallery  in  the  same  pocketed  blue  coat, 
breeches  and  tops,  that  served  him  for  aU  purposes  and  occasions.  The 
scat  was  buttoned  over  his  breast,  the  whitey-biown  beaver  once  \ 
more  upon  his  head,  and  the  goggles  adjusted  on  the  knife-back  ridge  on 
his  nose.  It  was  evident  he  intended  a  stroll.  This  was  all  the  more 
certain  as  he  had  regained  the  umbrella — which  had  dropped  from  him 
during  sleep — and  holding  it  in  his  grasp,  stood  by  the  top  of  the  stair • 
way,  as  if  on  the  eve  of  starting  out. 

Whither  was  he  going  ?    For  what  purpose  so  early  ? 

His  muttered  soliloquy  declared  his  design. 

"  It  musht  be  to-day — yesh,  I  musht  get  them  married  thish  very  day ; 
and  before  any  newsh  can  come.  The  report  of  the  Cushtos'  death  might 
shpoil  all  my  plans.  Who  knowsh  what  the  young  man  might  do,  if  he 
hash  only  a  hint  of  hish  good  luck  ?  After  all,  may  be,  Shoodith  ish  not 
so  shure  of  him  ?  She  hash  said  something  lash  night.  Ha !  it  musht 
be  thish  day.  It  ish  no  ushe  going  to  the  rector  of  the  parish.  He  ish 
the  Cushtos'  friend-;  and  might  make  some  obsheckshun.  That  won't  do 
— s'help  me,  no!  I  musht  go  to  the  other.  Hee'sh  poor,  and  won't 
shtand  shilly-shally.  Besides,  hish  knot  would  be  shoost  as  hard  to 
looshe  ash  if  it  wash  tied  by  the  Bishop  of  Shamaica.  He'll  do ;  and  if 
he  won't,  then  I  knowsh  one  who  will — for  monish  ;  ay,  anything  foi 
monish !" 

After  this  soliloquy,  he  was  about  setting  foot  upon  one  of  the  steps 
with  the  intention  of  descending,  when  a  thought  appeared  to  strike  him; 
and  turning  away  from  the  stair,  he  walked  with  shuffling  gentleness 
along  the  gallery,  towards  that  part  of  the  verandah  where  the  hammock 
was  suspended. 

"  I  eupposhe  the  young  shentleman  ish  shtill  ashleep.  Shentleman, 
indeed  !  now  he  ish  all  that  or  will  be,  the  next  time  he  goesh  to  shleep. 
Well  if  he  ish,  I  mushn't  dishturb  him.  Rich  shentlemen  muslm  t  havr 
their  shlumbers  interrupted.  Ach  /" 

The  exclamation  escaped  from  his  lips,  as  on  rounding  the  angle  of  the  * 
verandah,  he  came  within  sight  of  the  hammock. 

"Tish  empty,  I  declare!  He'sh  early  ashtir.  In  hish  room,  I  sup- 
poshe?" 

Sans  ceremonie,  the  Jew  kept  on  along  the  gallery  until  he  had  arrived 
in  front  of  his  book-keeper's  private  apartme'nt.  There  he  stopped,  look- 
ing inward. 

The  door  was  ajar — almost  wide  open.  He  could  see  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  interior  through  the  door  ;  the  rest  of  it  through  the  jalousies. 
There  was  ho  one  in  the  room — either  sitting,  standing,  or  moving  about! 

4<  Mashter  Vochan!     Are  you  there?" 

The  interrogatory  was  put  rather  by  way  of  confirming  his  observation! 
for  he  saw  there  was  no  on0  inside, 


THIS   MYSTERIOUS   ABSENCE.  261 

**  Whisre  are  you,  Mashter  Herbert  ?"  continued  he,  repeating  the  inter 
rogatory  in  an  altered  form — at  the  same  time  craning  his  neck  into  the 
apartment  and  glancing  all  around  it.  "  Ash  I  live,  it'sh  empty  liko  tht 
hammock  !  He  musht  have  gone  out.  Yesh.  Hish  hat's  not  hero — hie 
cloak  ish  not  here  and  I  see  no  gun.  He  alwaysh  kept  hish  gun  joosh 
there.  How  hash  he  passed  me  without  my  hearing  hish  foot  ?  I  shleep 
so  ash  I  can  hear  a  cat  shteelin'  over  the  floor  1  Hash  he  gone  by  the 
shtairway  at  all  ?  Ash  I  live,  no  !  Blesh  my  soul  1  there  is  a  track  where 
}  somebody  musht  have  shumped  over  the  railing  down  into  the  garden. 
S'help  me,  it  ish  his  track  !  There'sh  no  other  but  him  to  have  made  it 
What  the  deffil  ish  the  young  fellow  after  this  morning  ?  I  hope  there 
iah  nothing  wrong  in  it." 

On  missing  the  young  Englishman  out  of  his  hammock  and  room,  the 
penn-keeper  felt  at  first  no  particular  uneasiness.  His  '  protege'  had,  no 
doubt,  gone  out  for  a  stroll  in  the  woods.  He  had  taken  his  gun  along  with 
him,  to  have  a  shot  at  some  early  bird  looking  for  the  early  worm.  He 
had  done  so  many  a  time  before — though  never  at  so  early  an  hour. 

The  hour,  however,  was  not  enough  of  itself  to  cause  any  surprise  to  his 
patron  ;  nor  even  the  fact  of  his  having  leaped  over  the  verandah  railing. 
He  might  have  seen  the  owner  of  the  house  asleep  in  his  chair  near  the 
head  of  the  stairway  ;  and,  not  wishing  to  disturb  him,  had  chosen  the 
other  mode  of  exit.  There  was  nothing  in  all  this  to  cause  uneasiness. 

Nor  would  the  Jew  have  thought  anything  of  it  had  it  not  been  for 
some  other  circumstances  which  quickly  came  under  his  notice — guiding 
him  to  the  suspicion  that  something  might  be  amiss" 

The  first  of  these  circumstances  was  that  Herbert,  although  having 
taken  his  gun  along  with  him,  had  left  behind  his  shot-belt  and  powder- 
flask  I  Both  were  there  in  his  room,  hanging  upon  their  peg.  They  did 
not  escape  the  sharp  glance  of  tht  Jew ;  who  at  once  began  to  draw  con- 
clusions from  their  presence. 

If  the  young  man  had  gone  out  on  a  shooting  excursion,  it  was  strange 
that  he  did  not  take  his  ammunition  along  with  him  ? 

Perhaps,  however,  he  had  seen  some  sort  of  game  near  the  house ; 
and,  in  his  hurry  to  get  a  shot  at  it,  had  gone  off  hastily — trusting  to  the 
two  charges  which  his  gun  contained.  In  that  case  he  would  not  go  far; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  might  be  expected  back. 

A  few  minutes  passed,  and  a  great  many  minutes — until  a  full  hour  had 
'  transpired — and  still  nothing  was  heard  or  seen  of  the  book-kesper : 
though  messengers  had  been  dispatched  in  search  of  him,  and  had 
quartered  all  the  ground  for  half  a  mile  around  the  precincts  of  the  penn. 

Jessuron — whose  matutinal  visit  to  the  minister  had  been  postponed  by 
the  occurrence — began  to  look  grave. 

ta  It  ish  shtrange,"  said  he,  speaking  to  his  daughter,  who  had  now 
•risen,  and  was  far  from  appearing  cheerful ;  "  shtrange  he  should  go 
abroad  in  thish  fashion,  without  shaying  a  word  to  either  of  ush?" 

Judith  made  no  reply  :  though  her  silence  could  not  conceal  a  certain 
degree  of  chagrin,  from  which  she  was  evidently  suffering.  Perhaps  she 
had  even  more  reason  than  the  "  rabbi"  to  suspect  there  was  something 
amiss? 

Certainly,  something  disagreeable — a  misunderstanding,  at  least,  had 
arisen  between  her  and  Herbert  on  the  proceeding  day.  Her  speech 
had  already  given  so««  slight  hint  of  it;  bnt  much  more  her  manner, 


262  THE  MYSTERIOUS   AB8KWOS. 

which,  on  the  night  before,  and  now  unmistakably  in  the  raorm'Lg,  b» 
ti'ayed  a  mixture  of  melancholy  and  suppressed  indignation. 

It  did  not  add  to  the  equanimity  of  her  temper,  when  the  house  werxh 
-  -who  was  unslinging  the  hammock  in  which  Herbert  had  slept — an- 
nounced it  to  contain  two  articles  scarce  to  be  expected  in  such  a  placa 
— a  cocoa-nut  and  a  tobacco-pipe  1 

The  pipe  could  not  have  belonged  to  Herbert  Vaughan :  he  never 
smoked  a  pipe  ;  and  as  for  the  cocoa-nut,  it  had  evidently  been  plucked 
from  the  tree  standing  near.  The  trunk  of  the  palm  exhibited  scratches, 
as  if  some  one  had  climbed  up  it,  and  above  could  be  seen  the  freshly 
torn  peduncle,  where  the  fruit  had  been  wrenched  from  its  stalk ! 

What  should  Herbert  Vaughan  have  been  doing  up  the  palm-tree, 
flinging  cocoa-nuts  iuto  his  own  couch  ? 

His  unaccountable  absence  was  becoming  surrounded  by  circumstan- 
ces still  more  mysterious.  One  of  the  cattle-herds,  who  had  been  sent 
in  search  of  him,  now  coming  in,  announced  a  nev,  fact  of  further  signi- 
ficance. In  the  patch  of  muddy  soil,  outside  the  garden  wall,  the  herd 
had  discovered  the  book-keeper's  track,  going  up  towards  the  hills  ;  and 
near  it,  on  the  same  path,  the  footprint  of  another  man,  who  must  have 
gone  over  the  ground  twice,  returning  as  he  had  come! 

This  cattle-herd,  though  of  sable  skin,  was  a  skilled  tracker.  His 
word  might  be  trusted. 

It  was  trusted ;  and  produced  an  unpleasant  impression  both  on 
Jessuron  and  Judith — an  impression  more  unpleasant  as  time  passed,  and 
the  book-keeper  was  still  unreturned. 

The  father  fumed  and  fretted  ;  he  did  more — he  threatened.  The 
young  Englishman  was  his  debtor,  not  only  for  a  profuse  hospitality  but 
for  money  advanced.  Was  he  going  to  prove  ungrateful  ?  a  defaulter  ? 

Ah !  little  had  that  pecuniary  obligation  to  do  with  the  chagrin  that 
was  vexing  the  Jew  Jessuron.  Far  less  with  those  emotions,  like  the 
waves  of  a  stormy  sea,  that  had  begun  to  agitate  the  breast  of  his 
daughter  ;  and  which  every  slight  circumstance,  like  a  strong  wind,  was 
lashing  into  fury  and  fome. . 

******** 

Blue  Dick  came  back.  He  had  executed  his  errand  adroitly.  The  Gus- 
tos was  gone  upon  a  journey  1  he  had  started  exactly  at  the  hour  of 
daybreak. 

"Goot  1"  said  Jessuron ;  "  but  where  is  hish  nephew  ?" 

Blue  Dick  had  seen  Cynthia ;  and  whispered  a  word  in  her  ear.  as  the 
overseer  had  instructed  him.  She  would  come  over  to  the  penn,  as  soot: 
as  she  could  find  an  opportunity  for  absence  from  Mount  Welcome. 

"  Goot  1"  answered  the  Jew.  "  But  where  ish  Mashter  Voclian  ?  whei  t 
ba»h  he  betaken  himshelf  ?" 

"  vV&ere  ?"  mentally  interrogated  Judith,  a*  the  noonday  sun  saw  tlrt 
black  clouds  coursing  over  her  brow. 


A  SHADOWED  smtf.  253 

CHAPTER   LXXXIV. 

A     SHADOWED     SPIRIT 

THI  sun  was  just  beginning  to  re-gild  the  glittering  flanks  of  tne  Jumb* 
Rock,  his  rays  not  yet  having  reached  the  valley  below,  when  light* 
streaming  through  the  jalousied  windows  of  Mount  Welcome  proclaim 
td  that  the  inmates  of  the  mansion  were  already  astir. 

laghts  shone  through  the  lattices  of  several  distinct  windows — one 
fr<.m  the  Gustos'  sleeping  room,  another  from  the  apartment  of  Lilly 
Quasheba,  while  a  brilliant  stream,  pouring  through  the  jalousies  in 
front,  betokened  that  the  chandelier  was  burning  in  the  great  hall. 

From  Smy  thje's  chamber  alone  came  no  sign  either  of  light  or  life.  The 
windows  were  dark,  the  curtains  close  drawn.  Its  occupant  was  asleep. 

Yes,  though  others  were  stirring  around  him,  the  aristocratic  Smythje 
was  still  sleeping  as  soundly  and  silently  as  if  dead,  perhaps  dreaming 
of  the  fair  "  cweeole  queetyaws,"  and  his  twelve  conquests,  now  happily 
extended  to  the  desired  baker's  dozen,  by  the  successful  declaration  of 
yesterday. 

Though  a  light  still  burned  in  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Gustos, 
and  also  in  that  of  Kate,  neither  father  nor  daughter  were  in  their  own 
rooms.  Both  were  in  the  great  hall,  seated  by  a  table,  on  which,  even 
at  this  early  hour,  breakfast  had  been  spread.  It  was  not  the  regular 
matutinal  meal,  as  certain  circumstances  showed.  Mr.  Vaughan  only 
was  eating  ;  while  Kate  appeared  to  be  present  merely  for  the  purpose 
of  pouring  out  his  coffee,  and  otherwise  attending  upon  him. 

The  costume  in  which  the  Gustos  appeared  differed  from  his  every-day 
wear.  It  was  that  of  a  man  about  to  set  forth  upon  a  journey — in  short, 
a  travelling  costume.  A  surtout,  of  strong  material,  with  ample  out- 
side pockets  ;  boots  reaching  above  his  knees  ;  a  belt  with  pistol  holstera 
around  his  waist — a  guard  against  any  chance  encounter  with  runaway 
negroes :  a  felt  hat,  lying  on  a  chair  beside  him,  and  a  camlet  cloak, 
hanging  over  the  back  of  the  same  chair — all  proclaimed  the  purpose  of 
a  journey,  and  one  about  to  be  entered  upon  within  a  few  minutes  of 
time. 

A  pair  of  large  silver  spurs,  buckled  over  his  boots,  told  also  th ) 
mode  of  travel  intended.  It  was  to  be  on  horseback. 

This  was  further  manifested  by  the  fact  that  two  horses  were  at  that 
moment  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  stone  stairs  outside,  their  forma 
dimly  visible  through  the  blue  dawn.  Both  were  saddled,  bridled,  and 
equipped,  with  a  black  groom  by  their  side,  holding  them  in  hand— him- 
•elf  in  travelling  toggery. 

Valises,  Jbuckled  upon  the  croup,  and  saddle-bags  suspended  across 
the  cantie,  showed  that  the  travellers  were  to  carry  their  luggage  along 
with  them. 

The  object  of  the  intended  journey  is  already  known.  Mr.  Vaughan 
was  about  to  put  into  execution  a  design  long  delayed — to  perform  a 
duty  which  he  owed  to  his  daughter,  and  which,  if  left  unaccomplished, 
would  seriously  imperil  the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  her  future  life, 
He  was  about  proceeding  to  the  capital  of  the  island,  to  obtain  from 
the  Assembly  that  special  act  of  grace,  which  they  alone  could  givo  j 


264  A   SHADOWED  SPIRIT. 

and  which  would  free  his  daughter  from  those  degrading  (Usabilities  f'i« 
Black  Code  had  inflicted  upon  all  of  her  unfortunate  race.  Six  line! 
from  the  Assembly,  with  the  governor's  signature  attached,  though  it 
might  not  extinguish  the  taint,  nor  the  taunt  of  malevolent  lips,  would 
levertheleas,  remove  all  obstacles  to  hereditament ;  and  Kate  Vaughan 
jould  then  become  the  heiress  to  her  own  father's  property,  without 
rear  of  failure. 

To  sue  for  this  act  and  obtain  it  was  the  purpose  of  that  journey  upon 
which  Loftus  Vaughan  was  on  the  eve  of  setting  forth.  He  had  no 
apprehension  of  a  failure.  Had  he  been  only  a  book-keeper  or  small 
tradesman,  he  might  have  been  less  sanguine  of  success  ;  but  Gustos  of 
an  important  precinct,  with  scores  of  friends  in  the  Assembly,  he  knew 
that  he  would  only  have  to  ask  and  it  would  be  given  him. 

For  all  that,  he  was  not  setting  out  in  very  high  spirits.  The  unpleas- 
ant prospect  of  having  such  a  long  and  arduous  journey  to  make  was  a 
source  of  vexation  to  him :  for  the  Gustos  liked  an  easy  life,  and  hated 
the  fatigue  of  travej. 

But  there  was  something  besides  that  dispirited  him.  For  some  days 
past  he  had  found  his  health  giving  way.  He  had  lost  appetite,  and  was 
rapidly  losing  flesh.  A  constant  and  burning  thirst  had  siezed  upon  him, 
which,  from  morning  to  night,  he  was  continually  trying  to  quench. 

The  plantation  doctor  was  puzzled  with  the  symptoms,  and  his  pre- 
scriptions had  failed  in  giving  relief.  Indeed,  so  obstinate  and  death-like 
was  the  disease  becoming,  that  the  sufferer  would  have  given  up  his  in- 
tention of  going  to  Spanish  Town — at  least,  till  a  more  fitting  time — but 
for  a  hope,  that  in  the  capital,  some  experienced  physcian  might  be  found 
who  would  comprehend  his  malady  and  cure  it. 

Indulging  in  this  hope,  he  was  determined  to  set  forth  at  all  hazards. 

There  was  still  another  incubus  upon  his  spirits,  and  one,  perhaps,  that 
weighed  upon  them  more  heavily  than  aught  else.  Ever  since  the  death 
of  Chakra — or  rather  since  the  glimpse  he  had  got  of  Chakra's  ghost — a 
sort  of  supernatural  dread  had  taken  possession  of  the  mind  of  Loftus 
Vaughan.  Often  had  he  speculated  on  that  fearful  phenomenon,  and 
wondered  what  it  could  have  been.  Had  he  alone  witnessed  the  appari- 
tion, he  might  have  got  over  the  awe  it  had  occasioned  him  ;  for  then 
could  he  have  attributed  it  to  an  illusion  of  the  senses — a  mere  freak  of 
his  imagination,  excited,  as  it  was  at  the  time,  by  the  spectacle  on  the 
Jumbe  Rock.  But  Trusty  had  seen  the  ghost,  too  1  and  Trusty's  mind 
was  not  one  of  the  imaginative  kind.  Besides,  how  could  both  be  delud- 
ed by  the  same  fancy,  and  at  the  same  instant  of  time  ? 

Turn  the  thing  in  his  own  mind  as  ne  might,  there  was  something  that 
ttill  remained  inexplicable — something  that  caused  the  heart  of  the  Gus- 
tos to  tingle  with  fear  every  time  that  he  thought  of  Chakra  and  his 
ghost. 

This  intermitent  awe  had  oppressed  him  ever  since  the  day  of  his 
Tisit  to  the  Jumbe  Rock — that  day  described;  for  he  never  went  a 
second  time.  Nor  yet  did  he  afterwards  care  to  venture  alone  upon  the 
wooded  mountain.  He  dreaded  a  second  encounter  with  that  weird  ap- 
parition. 

In  time,  perhaps,  the  fear  would  have  died  out,  and,  in  fact,  was  dying 
out— the  intervals  during  which  it  wasjoot  felt  becoming  gradually  more 


THE  si'iRiiup-ctjp.  265 


Attended.    Loftus  Vaughan,  though  he  could  never  have  i<  r^otten  the 
myal-man,  nor  the  terrible  incidents  of  his  death,  might  have  ceased  to 
trouble  himself  with  thoughts  about  Chakra's  ghost,  but  for  a  circum 
stance  that  was  reported  to  him  on  the  day  that  Smylhje  sank  into  the 
deadwood. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  as  Quashie  was  making  his  way  home- 
ward through  the  forest  and  over  the  hills,  the  darkey  declared  that,  on 

-passing  near  a  noted  spot  called  the  Duppy's  Hole,  he  had  "  see'd  degost 

l-boleChakral" 

Quashie,  on  reaching  home,  announced  the  fact,  with  chattering  teeth 
and  eyes  rolling  wildly  in  their  sockets  ;  and,  though  the  loutish  boy  wan 
only  laughed  at  by  his  fellow-slaves,  the  statement  made  a  most  painful 
impression  on  the  mind  of  his  master  —  restoring  it  to  the  state  of  habit- 
ual terror  that  had  formerly  held  possession  of  it,  and  from  which  it  had 
become  only  partially  relieved. 

The  circumstance  related  by  Quashie  —  still  fresh  in  the  thoughts  of  the 
Gustos  —  had  contributed  not  a  little  to  increase  that  feeling  of  dejection 
and  discouragement  under  which  he  suffered  at  the  moment  of  setting 
oat  upon  his  proposed  expedition. 


CHAPTER    LXXXV. 

THE       8TIEBUP-OUP. 

IF  Loftus  Vaughan  was  in  low  spirits,  not  more  joyful  seemed  hii 
daughter,  as  she  assisted  at  the  early  "  dejuner." 

On  the  contrary,  a  certain  sadness  overspread  the  countenance  of  tho 
young  Creole  ;  as  if  reflected  from  the  spirits  of  her  father. 

A  stranger  to  the  circumstances  that  surrounded  her  might  have  fan- 
cied that  it  was  sympathy — at  seeing  him  so  dull  and  downcast — mingled 
with  the  natural  regret  she  might  have  at  his  leaving  home,  and  for  so 
long  an  absence.  But  one  who  scrutinised  more  closely  could  not  fail  to 
note  in  those  fair  features  an  expression  of  sadness  that  must  have 
sprung  from  a  different  and  deeper  source. 

The  purpose  of  her  father's  journey  may,  in  part,  explain  the  melan- 
choly that  marked  the  manner  of  the  young  Creole.  She  knew  that  pur- 
pose. She  had  learnt  it  from  her  father's  lips,  though  only  on  the  evei* 
ing  before. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  she  made  acquainted  with  thoso 
adverse  circumstances  that  related  to  her  birth  and  parentage :  for  up 
to  that  hour  she  had  remained  ignorant  of  her  position,  socially  as  well 
as  legally.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  was  fully  explained  to  her  her  own 
true  status  in  the  social  scale — the  disabilities  and  degradation  under 
which  she  suffered. 

It  was  to  remove  these  disabilities — and  wipe  out,  as  it  were,  the  de- 
gradation— that  her  father  was  now  going  forth. 

The  young  girl  did  not  fail  to  feel  gratitude  ;  but  perhaps  the  feeling 
might  have  been  stronger,  had  her  father  taken  less  trouble  to  make  he* 
feel  sensible  of  the  service  he  was  about  to  perform — using  it  as  a  levef 


STTRRtJP-CtfJ1. 

to  remove  that  reluctance  to  the  union  witli  Smythje,  which  still  fingered. 

During  the  few  minutes  that  Mr.  Vaughan  was  engaged  in  eating  his 
breakfast,  not  many  words  passed  between  them.  The  viards,  luxurious 
enough,  were  scarce  more  than  tasted.  The  intended  traveller  had  no 
appetite  for  the  solids  with  which  the  table  was  spread,  and  seemed  to 
care  only  for  drink. 

After  quaffing  off  several  cups  of  coffee,  solely  from  a  desire  to  quench 
thirst,  and  without  eating  bread  or  anything  else  along  with  it,  he  rose 
from  the  table,  and  prepared  to  take  his  departure. 

Mr.  Trusty  entering,  announced  that  the  horses  and  the  attendant 
groom  were  ready,  waiting  outside. 

The  Gustos  donned  his  travelling  hat,  and  with  the  assistance  of  Kate 
and  her  maid  Tola,  put  on  his  sleeved  cloak :  as  the  air  of  the  early 
morning  was  raw  and  cold. 

While  these  final  preparations  were  being  made,  a  mulatta  woman  waa 
jeen  moving  about  the  room — at  times  acting  as  an  attendant  upon  the 
table,  at  other  times  standing  silently  in  the  background.  She  was  the 
slave  Cynthia. 

In  the  behaviour  of  this  woman  there  was  something  peculiar.  Therr 
was  a  certain  amount  of  nervous  agitation  in  her  manner  as  she  moved 
about ;  and  ever  and  anon  she  was  seen  to  make  short  traverses  to  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  room — apparently  without  errand  or  object  Her 
steps,  too,  were  stealthy,  her  glances  unsteady  and  furtive. 

All  this  would  have  been  apparent  enough  to  a  suspicious  person ;  but 
none  of  the  three  present  appeared  to  notice  it. 

The  "  swizzle  "  bowl  stood  on  a  side-board.  While  breakfast  was 
being  placed  on  the  table,  Cynthia  had  been  seen  refilling  the  bowl  with 
this  delicious  drink,  which  she  had  mixed  in  an  adjoining  chamber. 
Some  one  asked  her  why  she  was  performing  that,  her  diurnal  duty,  at 
so  early  an  hour — especially  as  her  master  would  be  gone  before  the 
time  of  swizzle-drinking  should  arrive ;  usually  during  the  hotter  hours 
of  the  day. 

"  P'raps  massr  like  drink  ob  swizzle  Tore  he  go,"  was  the  explanatory 
reply  vouchsafed  by  Cynthy. 

The  girl  made  a  successful  conjecture.  Just  as  the  Gustos  was  about 
to  step  outside  for  the  purpose  of  descending  the  stairway,  a  fit  of  chok- 
ing thirst  once  more  came  upon  him,  and  he  called  for  drink. 

"  Massa  like  glass  ob  swizzle  ?"  inquired  Cynthia,  stepping  up  to  his 
•ide,  "  I've  mixed  for  massa  some  berry  good,"  added  she,  with  impres- 
sive earnestness. 

"  Yes,  girl,"  replied  her  master.  "  That's  the  best  thing  I  can  take. 
Bring  me  a  large  goblet  of  it." 

He  had  scarce  time  to  turn  round  before  the  goblet  was  presented  to 
him,  full  to  the  rim.  He  did  not  see  that  the  slave's  hand  trembled  as 
she  held  it  up,  nor  yet  that  her  eyes  were  averted — as  if  to  hinder  them 
from  beholding  some  fearful  sight. 

Hik  thirst  prevented  him  from  seeing  anything,  but  that  which  'pro- 
mised t«  assuage  it. 

He  caught  hold  of  the  goblet ;  and  gulped  down  the  whole  of  its  con 
ten£f,  without  once  removing  it  from  his  lips. 

u  You'v*  overrated  its  quality,  girl,"  said  ho,  returning  her  the 


fHE   HO&N   SIGNAL.  *2 

"It  cheflfc't  §eem  at  all  good.  There's  a  bitterish  taste  about  it;  but  I 
•uppose  it's  my  palate  that's  out  of  order,  and  one -shouldn't  be  particu- 
lar about  the  stirrup-cup." 

With  this  melancholy  attempt  at  appearing  gay,  Loftus  Vaughan  bade 
adieu  to  his  daughter,  and  climbing  into  the  saddle,  rode  off  upon  hi§ 
journey. 

Ah!  Gustos  Vaughan  1  That  stirrup-cup  was  the  last  you  were  ever 
destined  to  drink.  In  the  sparkling  "swizzle"  was  an  infusion  cf  the 
baneful  Savanna  Jlowcr.  In  that  deep  draught  you  had  introduced  inU 
your  veins  one  of  the  deadliest  of  vegetable  poisons. 

Chakra's  prophecy  will  soon  be  fulfilled.  The  death-spell  will  now 
quickly  do  its  work.  In  twenty-four  hours  you  will  be  a  corpse  I 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

THE    HORN    SIGNAL. 

CUBINA,  on  getting  clear  of  the  penn-keeper's  precincts,  lost  little  time  in 
returning  to  the  glade  ;  and,  having  once  more  reached  the  ceiba,  seated 
himself  on  a  log  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  young  Englishman. 

For  some  minutes  he  remained  in  this  attitude— though  every  moment 
becoming  more  fidgety,  as  he  perceived  that  time  was  passing,  and  no 
one  came.  He  had  not  even  a  pipe  to  soothe  his  impatience :  for  it  had 
been  left  in  the  hammock,  into  which  he  had  cast  it  from  the  cocoa. 

Before  many  minutes^had  passed,  however,  a  pipe  would  have  been  to 
little  purpose  in  restraining  his  nervous  excitement ;  for  the  non-appear- 
ance of  the  young  Englishman  began  to  cause  him  serious  uneasiness. 

What  could  be  detaining  him  1  Had  the  Jew  been  awakened  ?  and  was 
he  by  some  means  or  other  hindering  Herbert  from  coming  out?  There 
was  no  reason,  that  Cubina  could  think  of,  why  the  young  man  should 
be  ten  minutes  later  than  himself  in  reaching  the  ceiba.  Five  minutes — 
even  the  half  of  it — might  have  sufficed  for  him  to  robe  himself,  in  such 
garments  as  were  needed  ;  and  then  what  was  to  prevent  him  from 
following  immediately  ?  Surely  the  appeal  that  had  been  made  to  him, 
— the  danger  hinted  at  to  those  dear  to  him,  the  necessity  for  haste, 
spoken  in  unmistakable  terms— surely,  all  this  would  be  sufficient  to 
attract  him  to  the  forest,  without  a  moment's  hesitation? 

Why  then  was  he  delaying  ? 

The  Maroon  could  not  make  it  out :  unless  under  the  disagreeable  sup- 
position that  the  Jew  no  longer  slept,  and  was  intercepting  his  egress. 

What  if  Herbert  might  have  lost  his  way  in  proceeding  towards  the 
rendezvous  ?  The  path  was  by  no  means  plain,  but  the  contrary.  It 
was  a  mere  cattle  track,  little  used  by  men.  Besides,  there  were  others 
of  the  same — scores  of  them  trending  in  all  directions,  crossing  and  con- 
verging with  this  very  one.  The  half-wild  steers  and  colts  of  the  penn- 
keeper  ranged  the  thickets  at  will.  Their  tracks  were  everywhere  ;  and 
it  would  require  a  person  skilled  in  woodcraft  and  acquainted  with  the 
lay  of  the  country  to  follow  any  particular  path.  It  was  likely  enough 
that  the  young  Englishman  had  strayed 


268  fHE   &ORN   SIGNAL. 

it 

Just  then  these  reflections  occurred  to  Oubina.  He  chided  himaeil 
for  not  thinking  of  it  sooner.  He  should  have  stayed  by  the  penn — 
waited  for  Herbert  to  come  out,  and  then  taken  the  road  along  with  him. 

"  Not  to  think  of  thatl  Crambo  !  how  very  stupid  of  me  r  muttered 
the  Maroon,  pacing  nervously  to  and  fro ;  for  his  impatience  had  long 
since  started  him  up  from  the  log. 

"  Like  enough  he's  lost  his  way  ? 

"  I  shall  go  back  along  the  path.  Perhaps  I  may  find  him.  At  all 
tivents,  if  he's  taken  the  right  road,  I  must  meet  him." 

And  as  he  said  this,  he  glided  rapidly  across  the  glade,  taking  the 
back  track  towards  the  penn. 

The  conjecture  that  Herbert  had  strayed  was  perfectly  correct  The 
young  Englishman  had  never  revisited  the  scene  of  his  singular  ad- 
venture, since  the  day  that  introduced  him  to  the  acquaintance  of  so 
many  queer  people.  Not  but  that  he  had  felt  the  inclination,  amounting 
almost  to  a  desire,  to  do  so  ;  and  more  than  once  had  he  been  upon  the 
eve  of  satisfying  this  inclination,  but  otherwise  occupied,  the  opportunity 
had  not  offered  itself. 

Not  greatly  proficient  in  forest  lore — as  Cubina  had  also  rightly  con- 
jectured— especially  in  that  of  a  West  Indian  forest,  he  had  strayed  from 
the  true  path  almost  upon  the  instant  of  entering  upon  it ;  and  was  at 
that  very  moment  wandering  through  the  woods  in  search  of  the  glade 
where  grew  the  gigantic  cotton-tree  1 

No  doubt,  in  the  course  of  time,  he  might  have  found  it,  or  perhaps 
stumbled  upon  it  by  chance,  for — made  aware,  by  the  earnest  invitation 
he  had  received,  that  time  was  of  consequence — he  was  quartering  the 
ground  in  every  direction,  with  the  rapidity  of  a  young  pointer  in  his 
first  season  with  the  gun. 

Meanwhile  the  Maroon  glided  rapidly  back  along  the  path  leading  to 
the  penn,  without  seeing  aught  either  of  the  Englishman  or  his  track. 

He  re-entered  the  ruinate  fields  of  the  old  sugar  estate,  and  continued 
on  till  within  sight  of  the  house,  still  unsuccessful  in  his  search. 

Proceeding  with  caution,  he  stepped  over  the  dilapidated  wall  of  the 
old  orchard.  Caution  was  now  of  extreme  necessity.  It  was  broad  day  \ 
and,  but  for  the  cover  which  the  undergrowth  afforded  him,  he  could 
not  have  gone  a  step  farther  without  the  risk  of  being  seen  from  the 
house. 

He  reached  the  ruin  from  which  he  had  before  commanded  a  view  from 
the  verandah  ;  and,  once  more  stealing  a  glance  over  its  top,  he  obtained  • 
full  view  of  the  long  rambling  corridor. 

Jessuron  was  in  it — not  as  when  last  seen,  asleep  in  his  arm-chair,  but  on 
foot,  and  hurrying  to  and  fro,  with  quick  step  and  excited  mien. 

His  black-bearded  overseer  was  standing  by  the  door  as  if  listening  to 
seme  orders  which  the  Jew  was  issuing. 

The  hammock  was  still  hanging  in  its  place,  but  its  collapsed  sides, 
showed  that  it  was  empty.  Cubina  saw  that,  but  no  signs  of  its  late  oc- 
cupant— neither  in  gallery  nor  about  the  buildings. 

11  s'all  there,  he  must  be  in  some  of  the  rooms?  but  that  one  which 
opened  nearest  the  hammock,  and  which  Cubina  conjectured  to  be  hia 
bed-room,  appeared  to  be  unoccupied.  Its  <?  x>r  stood  ajar,  and  no  one 
to  bt  inside. 


THE   HORN   SIGNAL.  269 

The  Maroon  was  considering  whether  he  she  nld  .sta/  awhile  longef 
upon  the  spot,  and  watch  the  movements  of  the  two  men,  when  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  if  the  young  man  had  gone  out,  and  up  the  right  path, 
he  must  have  crossed  a  track  of  muddy  ground,  just  outside  the  garden 
wall! 

Being  so  near  the  house — and  in  the  expectation  of  seeing  something 
there  to  explain  Herbert's  delay — he  had  not  stayed  to  examine  this  e>n 
his  second  approach. 

Crouching  cautiously  among  the  trees,  he  now  returned  to  it ;  and,  almost 
»t  the  first  glance,  his  eye  revealed  to  him  the  truth. 

A  fresh  footprint  was  in  the  mud,  with  its  heel  to  the  house  and  its  to« 
pointing  to  the  path  I  It  was  not  his  own  ;  it  must  be  that  of  the  young 
Englishman  t  — *— * 

He  traced  the  tracks,  as  far  as  they  could  be  distinguished  ;  but  that 
was  only  to  the  edge  of  the  damp  earth.  Beyond,  the  ground  was  dry 
and  firm — covered  with  a  close-cropped  carpet  of  grass,  upon  which  the 
hoof  of  a  horse  would  scarcely  have  left  an  impression. 

The  tracks,  however,  on  leaving  the  moist  ground,  appeared  as  if 
trending  towards  the  proper  path  ;  and  Cubina  felt  convinced  tha-t,  for 
some  distance  at  least,  the  young  Englishman  had  gone  towards  the 
glade. 

That  he  was  no  longer  by  the  house  was  sufficiently  certain  ;  aud 
equally  so  that  he  had  kept  his  promise  and  followed  Cubina  into  the 
woods.  But  where  was  he  now  ? 

"  He  may  have  reached  the  glade  in  my  absence,  and  is  now  waiting 
for  me  ?"  was  the  reflection  of  the  Maroon. 

Stimulated  by  this,  as  well  as  by  the  chagrin  which  his  mischances  or 
mismanagement  were  causing  him,  he  started  back  along  the  path  at  a 
run — as  if  struggling  in  a  match  against  time. 

Far  quicker  than  before  he  reached  the  glade,  but,  as  before,  he  found 
it  untenanted  1  No  Englishman  was  under  the  ctiba — no  human  being  in 
eight. 

As  soon  as  he  had  fairly  recovered  breath,  he  bethought  him  of  shouting 
His  voice  might  be  of  avail  in  guiding  the  wanderer  to  the  glade ;  for 
Cubina  now  felt  convinced  that  the  young  Englishman  was  straying— 
perhaps  wandering  through  the  woods  at  no*  great  distance  from  the  spot. 
His  shouts  might  be  heard ;  and  although  the  stranger  might  not  recog- 
nise the  voice,  the  circumstances  were  such,  that  he  might  understand 
the  object  for  which  it  was  put  forth.  | 

Cubina  shouted,  first  at  a  moderate  pitch,  then  hallooed  with  all  th« 
strength  of  his  lungs. 

No  answer,  save  the  wood  echoes. 

Again  and  again :  still  no  response. 

'*  Crambo! "  exclaimed  he,  suddenly  thinking  of  a  better  means  of  mak- 
ing his  presence  known.  "  He  may  hear  my  horn  ?  He  may  remember 
tlfct,  and  know  it.  If  he's  anywhere  within  a  mile,  111  make  him  hear  it." 

The  Maroon  raised  the  horn  to  his  lips  and  blew  a  long,  loud  blast — 
then  another,  and  another. 

There  was  a  response  to  that  signal ;  but  not  such  as  the  young  Eng- 
lishman might  have  been  expected  to  make.    Three  shrill  bugle 
borne  back  upon  the  breeze,  seemed  the  echoes  of  hia  own* 


270 

But  the  Mar  ton  knew  they  were  not.  On  hearing  them,  he  let  drop 
the  horn  to  his  side,  and  stood  in  an  attitud*  to  listen, 

Another — this  time  a  single  wind — came  from  the  direction  of  the 
former. 

"Three  and  one,"  muttered  the  Maroon;  "it's  Quaco.  He  needn't 
have  sounded  the  last,  for  I  could  tell  his  tongue  from  a  thousand.  He'i 
on  his  way  back  from  Savanna-la-Mer — though  I  didn't  expect  him  to  be 
back  so  soon.  So  much  the  better — I  want  him." 

On  finishing  the  muttered  soliloquy,  the  Maroon  captain  stood  as  if  coa 
eidoring. 

"  Crambo  /"  he  muttered,  after  a  pause,  and  in  a  tone  of  vexation. 
"What  has  become  of  this  young  fellow?  I  must  sound  again — lest 
Quaoo's  horn  may  have  misled  him.  This  time,  lieutenant,  hold  your 
tongue  1" 

So  saying  and  speaking,  as  if  the  "  lieutenant"  was  by  his  side,  he 
raised  the  horn  once  more  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  single  blast — giving  it 
an  intonation  quite  different  from  the  other. 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  he  repeated  the  call  in  notes  exactly  simi- 
lar, and  then,  after  another  pause,  once  again. 

To  none  of  these  signals  did  the  "  tongue"  of  Quaco  make  reply :  but 
•hortly  after  that  worthy  responded  to  the  original  summons  by  present- 
ing himielf '  in  proprifc  persona.' 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 

QUAOO'S  QUBBB  ENCOUNTER. 

QUACO  came  into  the  glade  carrying  a  large  bundle  upon  his  back — under 
which  he  had  trudged  all  the  way  from  Savanna-la-Mer. 

He  was  naked  to  the  breech-cloth — excepting  the  hog-skin  greaves  up- 
on his  shanks,  and  the  old  brimless  hat  upon  his  head.  This,  however, 
was  all  the  costume  Quaco  ever  wore — all,  indeed,  that  he  owned  ;  for, 
notwithstanding  that  he  was  the  lieutenant,  his  uniform  was  no  better 
»bari  that  of  the  meanest  private  of  the  band. 

His  captain,  therefore,  exhibited  no  surprise  at  the  scantiness  of  Quaoo'i 
clothing  ;  but  what  did  surprise  Cubina  was  the  air  with  which  he  en- 
tered the  glade,  and  some  other  circumstances  that  at  once  arrested  his 
attention. 

The  skin  of  the  colossus  was  covered  with  a  white  sweat  that  appear- 
ed to  be  oozing  from  every  pore  of  his  dark  epidermis.  This  might  have 
been  occasioned  by  his  long  walk — the  last  hour  of  it  under  a  broiling 
»uu,  and  carrying  weight,  as  he  was:  for  the  bag  upon  his  back  appear- 
ed a  fifty  pounder,  at  least,  to  say  nothing  of  a  large  musket  balanced 
upon  the  top  of  it 

None  of  these  circumstancefe,  however,  would  account  for  that  inex- 
plicable expression  upon  his  yellow  eyeballs — the  quick,  hurried  step, 
and  uncouth  gesticulations  by  which  he  was  signalising  his  approach. 

Though,  as  already  stated,  they  had  arrested  the  attention  of  hie  8*p» 
fior,  the  latter  accustomed  to  a  certain  reserve  in  the  prewoce  o.f  fcis 


QUACO'S  QUEER  ENCOUNTER.  271 

followers,  pretended  not  to  notice  them.  As  his  lieutenant  came  up,  ht 
simply  said : — 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  come,  Quaco." 

"  An'  a'm  glad,  Captain  Cubina,  I've  foun'  ye  har.  War  huiryin'  home 
fass  as  my  legs  cud  carry  me,  'spectin'  to  find  ye  thar." 

"  Ha  1"  said  Cubina  ;  "  some  news,  I  suppose.  Have  you  met  any  on« 
in  the  woods — that  young  Englishman  from  the  Jew's  penn  ?  I'm  expect- 
ing him  here.  He  appears  to  have  missed  the  way." 

"  Han't  met  no  Englishman,  Cappin.  Cussos  Vaughan  am  that — I's»  i 
niai  him." 

"  Crambo .'"  cried  Cubina,  "  You've  met  Gustos  Vaughan  ?  When  and 
where  ?" 

"  When — dis  mornin .  Where — 'bout  fo'  mile  b'yond  the  crossin*  on 
the  Carrion  Crow  road.  That's  where  I  met  him" 

The  emphasis  upon  the  last  words  struck  upon  the  ear  of  Cubina.  It 
seemed  to  imply  that  Quaco,  on  his  route,  had  encountered  others. 

"  Anybody  else,  did  you  -meet  ?"  he  inquired,  hurriedly,  and  with  evi- 
dent anxiety  as  to  the  answer. 

"  Ya-as,  Cappin,"  drawled  out  the  lieutenant,  with  a  coolness  strongly 
in  contrast  with  his  excited  manner  on  entering  the  glade.  But  Quaco 
§aw  that  his  superior  was  waiting  for  the  coming  of  the  young  English- 
man, and  that  he  need  not  hurry  the  communication  he  was  about  to  make. 
"  Ya-as,  I  met  ole  Flute,  the  head  driver  at  Moun'  Welcome.  He  waa 
ridin'  'longside  o*  the  Cussos,  by  way  o'  his  escort." 

"Anybody  else?" 

"  Not  jest  then,"  answered  Quaco,  evidently  holding  back  the  most  in- 
teresting item  of  news  he  had  to  communicate.  "  Not  jess  then,  Cappin 
Cubina." 

*'  But  afterwards  ?  Speak  out,  Quaco !  Did  you  meet  any  one  going  on 
the  same  road  ?" 

The  command,  with  the  impatient  gesture  that  accompanied  it,  brought 
Quaco  to  a  quicker  confession  than  he  might  have  volunteered. 

"  I  met,  Cappin  Guinea,"  said  he,  his  cheeks  bulging  with  the  impor- 
tance of  the  communication  he  was  about  to  make,  while  his  eyes  rolled 
like  "  twin  jelly  balls"  in  their  sockets — "  I  met  next,  not  a  man  but  a 
ghost  /" 

"  A  ghost  ?"  said  Cubina,  incredulously. 

"  A  duppy,  I  sw'ar  by  the  great  Accompong — same  as  I  saw  before — 
tho  ghost  of  ole  Chakra." 

The  Maroon  captain  again  made  a  start,  which  his  lieutenant  attributed 
to  surprise  at  the  announcement  he  had  made. 

Cubina  did  not  undeceive  him  as  to  the  cause. 

"  And  where  ?"  interrogated  he,  in  hurried  phrase.  "  Where  did  yen 
meet  the  ehost  T" 

"  I  didn  t  zacly  meet  it,"  answered  Quaco,  "  I  only  seed  it  on  the  road 
afore  mo -'bout  a  hundred  yards  or  that  away.  I  wor  near  enuf  to  be 
sure  o'  it — and  it  was  Chakra's  ghost — joes  as  I  seed  him  t'other  day  up 
Jnar  by  the  Duppy  Hole.  The  old  villain  can't  aleep  in  his  grave.  He'd 
nbout  these  woods  yet." 

•''How  far  waa  it  from  where  you  met  Mr.  Vaughan V 

"  Nt4  a  great  way,  cappiii.     'B,;in  a  uaarter  o'  a  mile,  I  shed  think 


272  **  UKOLB  Ilf   DANGER. 

Soon  as  it  spied  ine,  it  tuck  to  the  bushes  ;  and  I  seed  no  more  on  it  II 
was  alter  daylight,  and  the  cocks  had  crowed.  I  heard  'era  crowing  at 
ole  Jobson's  plantation  close  by,  and,  maybe,  that  sent  the  Duppy  a 
ecuttlin'  into  the  River." 

"  We  must  wait  no  longer  for  this  young  man — we  must  be  gono  from 
here,  Quaco." 

And  as  Cubina  expressed  this  intention,  he  appeared  to  move  away  from 
the  spot. 

"  Stop,  Cappin,"  said  Quaco,  interrupting  bun  with  a  gesture,  thai 
showed  he  had  something  more  to  communicate  ;  "You  han't  heard  all.  I 
met  more  of  'em."  | 

"  More  of  whom  I" 

"  That  same  queer  sort.  But  two  miles  atter  I'd  passed  the  place  where 
I  seed  the  duppy  o'  the  ole  myal-man,  who  d'ye  think  I  met  nex'?" 

<4  Who  ?"  inquired  Cubina,  half  guessing  at  the  answer. 

"  Them  debbil's  kind — like  enuf  company  for  the  Duppy — them  dam* 
Spaniards  of  the  Jew's  penu." 

"  Ah  1  Maldito  /"  cried  the  Maroon  captain,  in  a  voice  of  alarm  at  the 
same  time  making  a  gesture  as  if  a  light  had  suddenly  broke  upon  him. 
"  The  Spaniards,  you  say  1  They,  too,  after  him  1  Come,  Quaco  !  Down  with 
that  bundle  1  Throw  it  in  the  bush — anywhere  !  There's  not  a  moment  to  be 
lost.  I  understand  the  series  of  encounters  you  have  had  upon  the  road. 
Luokily,  I've  brought  my  gun,  and  you  yours.  We  may  need  them  both 
before  night.  Down  with  the  bundle  and  follow  me  1" 

"  Stop  and  take  me  with  you,"  cried  a  voice  from  the  edge  of  the 
glade  ;  "  I  have  a  gun,  too." 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  young  Englishman,  with  his  gun  upon  his 
shoulder,  was  seen  emerging  from  the  underwood  and  making  towards 
the  ceiba. 


CHAPTER 

AN  UNCLE  IN   DANGBB. 

*  You  appear  to  be  in  great  haste,  Captain  Cubina,"  said  Herbert,  ad- 
Tancing  in  double  quick  time.  "  May  I  know  what's  the  matter  ?  Anj- 
thing  amiss  ?" 

"  Amiss,  Master  Vaughan  1  Much  indeed.  But  we  shouldn't  stand  to 
talk.  We  must  take  the  road  to  Savannah,  and  at  once." 

"  What !  you  want  me  to  go  to  Savannah  ?  I'm  with  you  for  any  rea- 
sonable adventure  ;  but  my  time's  not  exactly  my  own  ;  and  I  must  first 
have  a  reason  for  such  a  journey." 

"A  good  reason,  Master  Vaughan.  Your  uncle,  the  Gustos,  is  in 
trouble." 

"  Ah  1"  exclaimed  the  young  Englishman,  with  an  air  of  disappoint- 
ment "  Not  so  good  a  reason  as  you  may  think,  captain.  Was  it  him 
you  meant  when  you  said  just  now  one  who  should  be  dear  to  me  was  ia» 
danger  ?" 

it  was,"  answored  Cubina. 

"  Captain  Ci \bina."  said  Herbert,  speaking  with  a  certain  air  of  indiffo 


AN   UNCLE   IN   DANGER.  273 

>,  "  this  uncle  of  mine  but  little  deserves  my  interfeience." 

M  But  his  life's  in  danger  1"  urged  the  Maroon,  interrupting  Herbert  in 
hid  explanation. 

"  Ah  1"  ejaculated  the  nephew,  "  do  you  say  that  ?  Is  his  life  in  danger, 
then " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Maroon,  again  interrupting  him,  "  and  nth*~t  too  may 
be  in  peril  from  the  same  enemy — yourself,  perhaps,  Master  Vaughan, 
Ay,  and  maybe  those  that  might  be -dear  to  you  as  yourself." 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  Herbert,  this  time  in  a  very  different  tone  of  voice  i 
*  You  have  some  evil  tidings,  Captain  ?  Pray  tell  me  all  at  once  ?" 

"  Not  now,  Master  Vaughan,  not  now.  There's  not  a  momfcit  to  be 
wasted  in  talk.  We  must  take  the  route  at  once.  I  shah1  tell  you  as  we 
go  along." 

"  Agreed  then,"  cried  Herbert.  "  If  it's  a  life  and  death  matter,  I'm 
with  you — even  to  Savannah  !  No  book-keeping  to-day,  Master  Jessuron 

and "  (the  speaker  only  mentally  pronounced  the  name)  "  Judith  may 

well  spare  me  for  one  day — especially  for  such  a  purpose  as  the  saving 
of  lives.    All  right ;  I'm  with  you,  Captain  Cubina." 

"  Vamos  /"  cried  the  Maroon,  hastily  moving  off.  "  For  want  of  horses 
we  must  make  our  legs  do  double  quick  time.  These  skulking  scound- 
rels have  sadly  got  the  start  of  us." 

And  saying  this,  he  struck  into  the  up-hill  path,  followed  by  Herbert — 
the  taciturn  lieutenant,  no  longer  embarrassed  bj  his  bundle,  keeping 
close  in  the  rear. 

The  path  Cubina  had  chosen  appeared  to  conduct  to  Mount  Welcome. 

"  You  are  not  going  there  ?"  inquired  Herbert,  hi  a  significant  way,  at 
the  same  time  stopping,  and  appealing  to  his  conductor  for  an  answer. 

It  had  just  occurred  to  the  nephew  that  a  visit  to  his  uncle's  houeo 
might  place  him  in  a  position  both  unpleasant  and  embarrassing. 

"  No  !"  answered  the  Maroon ;  "  there  is  no  longer  any  need  for  us  to 
go  to  the  house  :  since  the  Gustos  has  left  it  long  hours  ago.  We  could 
learn  nothing  there  more  than  I  know  already.  Besides,  it's  half  a  mile 
out  of  our  way.  We  should  lose  time  ;  and  that's  the  most  important  of 
all.  We  shall  presently  turn  out  of  this  path,  into  one  that  leads  over 
the  mountain  by  the  Jumbe  Rock.  That's  the  shortest  way  to  the 
Savannah  road.  Vamot  /" 

With  this  wind-up  to  his  speech,  the  Maroon  again  moved  on ;  acd 
Herbert  his  mind  now  at  rest,  strode  silently  after. 

Up  to  this  time  the  young  Englishman  had  received  no  explanation  of 
the  object  of  the  journey  he  was  in  the  act  of  undertaking ;  nor  had  he 
asked  any.  The  information,  though  as  yet  only  covertly  conveyed— 
that  those  dear  to  him  were  in  danger — was  motive  enough  for  trusting 
the  Maroon. 

Before  long,  however,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  ought  to  be  informed 
of  the  nature  of  that  danger  ;  over  whom  it  impended ;  and  what  was  the 
wgnification  of  the  stop  they  were  now  taking  to  avert  it. 

These  questions  he  put  to  his  conductor,  as  they  hastened  together 
along  the  path. 

In  hurried  phrase  the  Maroon  made  known  to  him  much,  though  not 
all,  of  what  he  himself  knew  of  the  position  of  affairs — more  especially/ 
the  peril  in  which  the  Gustos  appeared  to  be  placed.  He  gave  ai 


274  AN   EQTJI&TRIAN   EXCURSION. 

account  of  his  own  descent  into  the  Duppy's  Hole  ;  of  the  conversation 
he  had  overheard  there ;  and  though  still  ignorant  of  the  motives,  stated 
his  suspicions  of  the  murderous  plot,  in  which  Herbert's  own  employer 
was  playing  a  principal  part. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  young  Englishman  was  astounded  by 
these  revelations. 

Perhaps  he  would  have  been  still  more  astonished,  but  that  the  do 
velopment  of  these  wicked  dealings  were  only  a  confirmation  Of  a  whole 
series  of  suspicious  circumstances,  that  for  some  days  before  had  been 
constantly  coming  under  his  notice,  and  for  which  he  had  been  vainly 
seeking  an  explanation. 

From  that  moment  all  thoughts  of  returning  to  dwell  under  the  roof 
of  Jacob  Jessuron  vanished  from  his  mind.  To  partake  of  the  hospitality 

:>f  such  a  man a  murderer,  at  least  by  intent — was  completely  out  of 

die  question.  He  at  once  perceived  that  his  fine,  sinecure  situation  must 
be  given  up  ;  and,  despite  the  scandal  his  desertion  might  bring  about, 
He  could  never  again  make  his  home  in  the  Happy  Valley.  Even  the  fas- 
cinations of  that  fair  Judith  would  not  be  strong  enough  to  attract  him 
thither. 

Cubina  listened  to  these  resolves,  and  apparently  with  great  satisfaction. 
But  the  Maroon  had  not  yet  made  known  to  Herbert  many  other  secrets, 
of  which  he  had  become  the  depository  ;  and  some  of  which  might  be  to 
the  young  Englishman  of  extremest  interest.  The  communication  of 
these  he  reserved  to  a  future  opportunity — when  time  might  not  be  so 
pressing. 

Herbert  Vaughan,  now  apprised  of  the  peril  in  which  his  uncle  stood, 
for  the  time  forgot  all  else,  and  only  thought  of  pressing  onward  to  hia 
aid.     Injuries  and  insults  appeared  alike  forgotten  and  forgiven — even , 
that  which  had  stung  him  more  sharply  than  all — the  cold  chilling  bow 
at  the  Smythje  ball ! 

Beyond  the  Jumbe  Rock,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  the  by-path  by 
which  they  were  travelling,  lay  the  proper  country  of  the  Maroons.  By 
winding  a  horn,  it  might  have  been  heard  by  some  of  the  band  ;  who  at 
that  hour  would,  no  doubt,  be  engaged  in  their  usual  occupation — hunt- 
ing the  wild  hog. 

Cubina  knew  this  ;  and,  on  arriving  at  that  point  on  the  path  nearest 
V)  the  town,  he  halted,  and  stood  for  a  moment  reflecting. 

Then,  as  if  deeming  himself  sufficiently  strong  in  the  companionship  of 
the  robust  young  Englishman  and  the  redoubtable  lieutenant,  he  gave  up 
the  idea  of  calling  any  of  them  to  his  assistance;  and  once  more  moved  for- 
ward along  the  route  towards  the  Savannah  road. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 

AN    EQUESTRIAN    EXCURSION. 

TDKOUJHOUT  the  day  the  penn-keepei  kept  to  his  Po&n.  The  unexplained 
absence  of  his  '  protege'  rendered  it  prudent  to  postpone  his  proposed 
v^eit  to  the  minister  ;  besides,  Cynthia  was  expected. 

^rom  the  niulatta  he  hoped  to  obtain  much  information.  1  er  know- 
ledge of  events  must  be  fresher  thai:  even  that  of  Chakra — else  would  he 
have  gone  up  to  the  Duppy's  Hole  to'cousult  the  oracle  of  ObL 


AN   EQUESTRIAN   EXCURSION.  275 

would  be  likely  to  know  all.  She  could  at  least  tell  him  whether  the 
Rpell  had  been  administered — how,  and  when. 

These  were  facts  worth  knowing,  and  Jessuron  stayed  at  home  to  await 
tie  advent  of  Cynthia. 

Not  so  Judith.  Devoured  by  spleen,  inaction  was  too  irksome.  She 
could  not  content  herself  in  the  house  ;  and  resolved  to  seek  outside,  if 
jot  solace,  at  least  distraction  to  her  thoughts.  Shortly  after  breakfast 
she  ordered  her  steed  to  be  saddled,  and  prepared  to  go  forth. 

Strange  it  was  he  should  absent  himself  on  that  day  above  any  other! 
Just  after  his  uncle  had  departed  on  a  journey  ?  That  was  strange  ? 

Judith  summoned  the  herdsman  who  had  discovered  the  tracks  in  th* 
mud. 

"  You  are  sure  it  was  the  track  of  young  Master  Vaughan  you  saw  Tw 

"  Sartin  sure,  Missa  Jessuron — one  ob  'em  war." 

"  And  the  other  ?    What  was  it  like  ?   Was  it  also  the  track  of  a  man  ?" 

"  Ya,  missa  ;  'twar  a  man's  track — leastwise,  I  nebber  seed  a  woman 
*rack  big  as  dat  'ere.  Sartin  do  sole  dat  make  it  wor  de  fut  ob  a  man, 
though  it  wa'n't  de  boot  oba  gen'l  man  like  young  Massa  Vaughan." 

Whip  in  hand,  the  Jewess  stood  reflecting. 

A  messenger  might  it  be  ?  From  whom,  if  not  from  Kate  Vaughan  ? 
With  whom  else  was  he  acquainted  ?  Such  strange  conditions  of  relation- 
ship 1  The  mysterious  mode  by  which  the  messenger  must  have  ap- 
proached him  ;  for  fresh  mud  upon  the  back  of  the  tree  told  that  he  who 
nad  climbed  up  must  have  been  the  same  who  had  made  the  foot-marks 
by  the  garden  wall.  The  articles  found  in  the  hammock  had  been  flung 
down  to  awake  and  warn  the  sleeper  ? 

Clearly  a  secret  message,  delivered  by  a  crafty  messenger  I  Clearly  a 
surreptitious  departure  ? 

And  the  motive  for  all  this  ?  No  common  one  ? — -it  could  not  be.  No 
errand  after  game.  The  fowling  piece  was  gone ;  but  that  was  no 
evidence  of  an  intention  to  spend  the  day  in  sporting.  Herbert  was  in 
the  habit  of  taking  his  gun,  whenever  he  strolled  out  into  the  fields  or 
forest.  But  the  other  and  necessary  paraphernalia  had  been  left  behindl 
A.  shooting  excurtion?  Nothing  of  the  sort! 

A  messenger  with  a  love  message— a  summons  willingly  accepted-  - 
j  >rornptly  responded  to  I 

"  Oh,  if  it  be!"  cried  the  proud, passionate  woman,  as  she  sprang  upon 
the  back  of  her  steed  ;  "  if  it  be,  I  shall  know  it  1  I  shall  have  revenge !" 

The  horse  came  in  for  a  share  of  this  jealous  indignation.  A  spiteful 
cut  of  the  whip,  and  a  fierce  "  dig"  from  her  spurred  heel,  set  the  animal 
in  rapid  motion — his  head  towards  the  hills. 

Judith  Jessuron  was  a  splendid  equestrian,  and  could  manage  a  horse 
as  well  as  the  best  breaker  about  her  father's  penn. 

In  the  saddle  she  was  something  to  be  seen  and  admired  ;  her  brilliant 
beauty,  enhanced  by  the  charm  of  excitement,  exhibiting  itself  in  the 
heightened  colour  of  h»r  cheeks,  and  the  stronger  flashing  of  her  dark 
Jewish  eyes.  The  outline  of  her  form  was  equally  attractive.  Of  full 
womanly  development,  and  poised  in  the  saddle  with  an  air  of  piquant 
abandon,  it  illustrated  the  curve  of  Hogarth  in  all  its  luxuriant  graceful- 
ness.  Such  a  spectacle  was  calculated  to  elicit  something  more  than 
ordinary  admiration ;  and  it  required  a  heart  already  pre- \7couyied  to 


276  BMTTHJE   AMONG  THE  STATUES. 

resist  its  fascinations.  If  Herbert  Vaughan  had  escaped  them,  it  oonlC 
only  be  from  having  his  heart  thus  defended  from  a  danger  that  few  men 
might  have  tempted  with  a  chance  of  safety! 

Galloping  across  the  old  garden,  with  a  single  leap  she  cleared  th« 
ruined  wall;  and  arriving  at  the  spot  where  were  still  to  be  seen  those 
tell-tale  tracks,  she  reined  up,  and  leaned  over  to  examine  them. 

Yes — that  was  his   track — his   small  foot  was  easily  dialing*! filial  'I 
The  other  ?    There  it  was — the  footprint  of  a  negro — pegged  brcg'jni  | 
White  men  do  not  wear  them.    Some  of  the  slave  people  of  Mount  Wei  I 
come?    But  why  twice  back  and  forward?     Was  not  once  sufficient. 
Had  there  been  a  double  message  ?    There  might  have  been — a  warning, 
and  afterwards  an  appointment ! 

Perhaps,  to  meet  in  the  forest  ?    Ha !  perhaps  at  that  moment  1 

The  bitter  conjecture  brought  her  reflections  to  an  abrupt  ending  ;  and 
once  more  plying  whip  and  spur,  the  jealous  equestrian  dashed  rapidly 
on,  up  the  sloping  path  that  trended  towards  the  hills. 

The  purpose  of  this  expedition,  on  the  part  of  the  Jewess,  was 
altogether  indefinite.  It  simply  sprang  from  that  nervous  impatience 
that  would  not  permit  her  to  rest — a  faint  hope  that  during  her  ride  she 
might  discover  some  clue  to  the  mysterious  disappearance.  Wretched- 
ness might  be  the  reward  of  that  ride.  No  matter  1  Uncertainty  was  un- 
endurable. 

She  did  not  go  exactly  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Welcome,  though 
thither  went  her  thoughts.  She  had  never  been  a  guest  of  the  Gustos, 
and  therefore  had  no  colourable  excuse  for  presenting  herself  at  the 
mansion — else  she  would  have  ridden  direct  to  it 

Her  design  was  different. 

Though  she  might  not  approach  the  house,  she  could  reconnoitre  it 
from  a  distance ;  and  this  had  she  determined  upon  doing. 

She  had  fixed  upon  the  Jumbe  Bock  as  the  best  point  of  observation. 
She  knew  that  its  ^summit  commanded  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Mount  Wel- 
come estate,  lying  "under  the  mountain  like  a  spread  map,  and  that  any 
movement  by  the  mansion,  or  in  the  surrounding  inclosures,  might  be 
minutely  marked — especially  with  the  aid  of  a  powerful  lorgnette,  with 
which  she  had  taken  the  precaution  to  provide  herself. 

With  this  intent  did  she  head  her  horse  towards  the  Jumbe  Rock- 
urging  the  aniiEa!  with  fierce,  fearless  energy  up  the  difficult  declivity  ot 
the  mountain. 


CHAPTER  Xa 

BMYTHJJE   AMONG   THE    STATUES. 

AT  that  hour,  when  the  heart  of  Judith  Jessuron  was  alternately  torn  bj 
the  passions  of  love  and  jealousy,  a  passion  equally  profound,  though  ap 
purently  more  tranquil,  was  burning  in  the  breast  of  Lilly  Quasheba,  in 
spired  by  the  same  object — Herbert  Vaughan. 

In  vain  had  the  young  Creole  endeavoured  to  think  indifferently  of  hei 
in  vaia  had  afce  striven  to  reconcile  her  love  with,  what  bff 


AMONG    TTtE    STAtlTES.  277 

father  had  taught  her  to  deem  her  duty,  and  think  differently  of  Mr 
Smythje — in  vain.  The  effort  only  ended  in  a  result  the  very  opposite  to 
that  intended  in  strengthening  her  passion  for  the  former,  and  weakening 
her  regard  for  the  latter.  And  thus  must  it  ever  be  with  the  heart's  in« 
clinings,  as  well  as  its  disincliuings.  Curbed  or  opposed,  it  is  but  ita 
instinct  in  both  cases  to  rebel. 

From  that  hour  in  which  Kate  had  yielded  to  the  will  of  her  father, 
and  consented  to  become  the  wife  of  Montagu  Smythje,she  felt  more  sensi- 
bly than  ever  the  sacrifice  she  was  about  to  make.  But  there  was  none 
to  step  forth  and  save  her — no  strong  hand  and  stout  heart  to  rescue  her 
?roin  her  painful  position.  It  had  now  become  a  compromise  ;  and,  sum- 
moning all  the  strength  of  her  soul,  she  awaited  the  unhappy  issue  with 
such  resignation  as  she  could  command. 

She  had  but  one  thought  to  cheer  her,  if  cheer  it  could  be  called — she 
had  not  sacrificed  her  JUiaL  affection.  She  had  performed  the  wishes  of 
her  father — that  father  who,  however  harsh  he  might  be  to  others,  had 
been  ever  kind  and  affectionate  to  her.  Now,  more  than  ever,  did  she 
feel  impressed  with  his  kindness,  when  she  considered  the  errand  on 
which  he  had  gone  forth. 

Though  thus  resigned,  or  trying  to  feel  so,  she  could  neither  stifle  her 
passion  for  Herbert,  nor  conceal  the  melancholy  which  its  hopelessness 
occasioned  ;  and  during  all  that  morning,  after  her  father  had  left  her,  the 
shadow  appeared  upon  her  countenance  with  more  than  its  wonted  dark- 
ness. 

Her  lover — that  is,  her  '  finance  :'  for  Smythje  now  stood  to  her  in  that 
relationship — did  not  fail  to  observe  her  unusual  melancholy,  though  fail- 
ing to  attribute  it  to  the  true  cause. 

It  was  natural  that  the  young  lady  should  feel  sad  at  the  absence  of 
her  worthy  parent,  who  for  many  years  had  never  been  separated  from 
her  beyond  the  period  of  a  few  hours'  duration,  or,  at  most  a  single  day. 
She  would  soon  get  used  to  it,  and  then  ah1  would  be  right  again. 

With  some  such  reflections  did  Smythje  account  for  the  abstraction  he 
had  observed  in  the  behaviour  of  his  betrothed. 

During  all  the  morning  he  had  been  assiduous  in  his  attentions — mor« 
than  wontedly  so.  He  had  been  left  by  the  Gustos  in  a  proud  position — 
that  of  protector — and  he  was  desirous  of  showing  how  worthy  he  was  of 
the  trust  reposed  in  him. 

Alas  1  in  the  opinion  of  Kate  he  was  by  far  too  assiduous. 

The  '  protegee'  felt  importuned;  and  his  most  well-meant  attentions  had 
the  effect  only  to  weary  her.  Too  glad  would  she  have  been  to  be  left 
alone  to  her  sighs  and  her  sadness. 

Shortly  after  breakfast,  Smythje  proposed  a  stroll — a  short  one.  He 
had  no  zest  for  toilsome  excursions  ;  and,  since  the  day  of  his  shooting 
adventure,  no  zeal  again  to  attempt  any  distant  traverse  of  the  forest. 

The  stroll  was  only  to  extend  to  the  shrubbery  and  among  the  statues 
set  there.  The  weather  was  temptingly  fine.  There  was  no  reason  why 
Kate  Vaughan  should  refuse  ;  and,  with  a  mechanical  air,  she  acceded  to 
the  proposal. 

Smythje  discussed  the  statues,  drawing  largely  from  the  stock  of 
classic  lore  which  his  university  had  afforded  him  —  dilating  more 
wpecially  on  those  of  Venus,  Cupid  and  Cleopatra,  all  suggestive  of  th* 


27$  A   8fRA.ttGfc  DETEEMINATKHf* 

tender  sentiments  that  wero  stirring  within  his  own  romantic  bosom,  fcnd 
to  which,  more  than  once,  he  took  occasion  to  allude.  Though  narrowly 
did  he  watch,  to  see  what  effect  his  fine  speeches  were  producing,  h« 
failed  to  perceive  any  that  gave  him  gratification.  The  countenance  of 
his  companion  obstinately  preserved  that  air  of  pre-occupation  that  had 
been  visible  upon  it  all  the  morning. 

In  the  midst  of  ono  of  his  scholastic  dissertations  the  classical  exquisite 
was  interrupted  by  the  advent  of  his  valet,  Thorns — who  appeared  com 
ing  from  the  house  with  the  air  of  a  servant  who  brings  a  message  foi 
liis  master. 

The  message  was  declared :  a  gentleman  friend  of  Mr.  Smythje — foi 
h«  had  now  many  such  in  the  island — had  called  to  see  him.  No  particu- 
lar business — merely  a  call  of  compliment. 

The  name  was  given.  It  was  one  which  should  be  honoured  by  a 
polite  reception  ;  else  the  proud  owner  of  Montagu  Castle  might  have  de- 
clined leaving  the  company  in  which  he  was  upon  so  trivial  a  purpose. 
But  the  visitor  was  one  of  note — a  particular  friend,  too.  Miss  Vaughan 
would  not  deem  him  rude,  leaving  her  only  for  a  moment  ? 

"  By  no  means  I"  said  Kate,  with  a  free  haste  that  almost  said  as  much 
as  that  she  was  only  too  glad  to  get  quit  of  him. 

Smythje  followed  his  valet  into  the  house  ;  and  the  young  Creole  was 
left  among  the  statues  alone — herself  the  fairest  shape  in  all  that  classical 
collection. 


CHAPTER  XCL 

A    STRANGE    DETERMINATION. 

FOB  some  moments  after  Smythje  was  gone,  Kate  Vaughan  remained 
where  he  had  left  her — silent  and  motionless  as  the  sculptured  marbles 
by  her  side.  Niobe  was  near ;  and,  as  if  by  accident,  the  eyes  of  the 
young  Creole  turned  upon  the  statue  of  the  weeping  daughter  of  Dione. 

*'  Ah  I"  muttered  she,  struck  with  a  strange  thought ;  "  unhappy  mother 
of  a  murdered  offspring  1  If  thy  sadness  was  hard  to  endure  as  mino^ 
thy  punishment  must  have  been  a  pleasure.  Would  that  I  like  the* 
were  suddenly  turned  into  stone.  Ah,  me  I" 

And  finishing  her  apostrophe  with  a  profound  sigh  she  stood  for  gome 
time  silently  gazing  upon  the  statue. 

After  a  while  her  thoughts  underwent  some  change  ;  and  along  witli  it 
her  eyes  wandered  away  from  the  statues  and  the  shrubbery.  Her  glance 
was  turned  upwards  towards  the  mountain,  and  rested  upon  the  summit 
— the  Jumbe  rock  now  glittering  gaily  under  the  full  sheen  of  the  sun- 
light 

"  There,"  soliloquised  she,  in  a  low  murmur  ;  "  upon  that  rock,  arid 
there  only,  have  I  felt  one  hour  of  true  happiness — that  happiness  of 
which  I  had  read  in  books  of  romance,  without  believing  in,  but  which  I 
now  know  to  be  real — to  gaze  into  the  eyes  of  him  you  love,  and  think. 
as  I  then  thought,  that  you  are  loved  in  return.  Oh  1  it  was  bliwi  1  it  wa« 
hlis»  1* 


DETERMINATION.  2?9 

The  remembrance  of  that  briyf  interview  with  her  cousin — for  it  was 
to  that  her  words  referred — came  BO  forcibly  before  the  mind  of  the  im- 
passioned creole  as  to  stifle  her  utterance,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  she 
was  silent. 

Again  she  continued 

"  An  hour  have  I  said  ?  Ah !  scarce  a  minute  did  the  sweet  delusion 
last ;  but  had  I  my  choice  I  would  rather  live  that  minute  over  again  than 
all  the  rest  of  my  past  life — certainly,  than  all  of  it  that  is  to  come  !" 

Again  she  paused  in  her  speech,  still  gazing  upon  the  rock — wh  >se 
sparkling  surface  seemed  purposely  presented  to  her  eyes,  as  if  to  cheer 
her  heart  with  the  sweet  souvenir  it  recalled. 

"  Oh  1 1  wonder,"  she  exclaimed  at  length,  "I  wonder  how  it  would  be 
were  I  but  up  there  again !  To  stand  on  the  spot  where  I  stood !  Could 
I  fancy  him,  as  then,  beside  me  ?  Could  I  recall  the  looks  he  gave  me, 
and  my  own  sweet  thoughts  as  I  returned  it  1  Oh  1  it  would  be  like 
some  delicious  dream  1" 

Passion  again  called  for  a  pause  ;  but  soon  after  her  reflections  found 
speech. 

"  And  why  should  I  not  indulge  in  it  ?  why  not  ?  What  harm  can  it 
do  me  ?  Even  if  the  souvenir  should  bring  sadness,  it  cannot  add  to 
that  which  overwhelms  me.  No;  I  need  not  fear  to  terrpt  the  trial ;  and 
I  shall.  This  very  hour  shall  I  go  up,  and  stand  upon  that  same  spot. 
There  shall  I  invoke  the  past,  and  give  to  memory,  to  fancy,  its  fullest 
play.  I  need  not  fear.  There  will  be  no  witness  but  tho  heaven  above  and 
the  God  who  dwells  in  it — alike  witness  to  the  sa  aifice  of  a  broken 
heart  made  in  the  fulfilment  of  my  duty." 

On  completing  this  impassioned  speech,  the  young  girl  raised  a  ker- 
chief of  white  cambric  which  she  carried  in  her  hand,  and  hastily  adjust- 
ing it  over  the  luxuriant  plaits  of  her  hair,  glided  towards  the  rear  of  the 
<nansion. 

She  did  not  turn  aside  to  enter  the  house,  nor  even  to  warn  any  one  of 
her  sudden  determination  but  hastening  on,  soon  reached  the  back  of  the 
garden. 

There  a  small  wicket-gate  gave  her  egress  into  the  woods — a  path 
from  that  point  trending  in  traverses,  zigzag  fashion,  up  the  mountain 
slope. 

It  was  the  same  path  she  had  followed  upon  the  day  of  the  eclipse  ; 
but  how  different  were  the  thoughts  that  row  agitated  her  bosom  from 
those  she  had  indulged  in  on  that  memorable  occasion  1  Even  then,  it  is 
true,  her  spirits  were  far  from  being  cheerful ;  but  still  there  was  hope 
ahead.  She  had  not  then  arrived  at  the  full  knowledge  of  Herbert's  ii* 
difference  towards  her — of  his  determination  towards  her  more  fortiv 
Bate  rival.  The  circumstances  that  had  since  transpired — the  scenei 
that  had  come  under  her  own  observation— the  rumors  heard  and  too 
•ubstantially  confirmed — all  had  combined  to  extinguish  that  little  gleam 
of  hope  so  faint  and  feebly  flickering. 

Indeed,  there  was  upon  that  very  morning  a  new  thought  in  her  mind, 
calculated  still  farther  to  render  her  sad  and  humiliated. 

The  revelations  which  her  father  had  made  before  starting  on  hia 
journey — the  admissions  as  to  the  inferiority  of  her  race,  and  contir.- 
gontlj  of  her  social  rank,  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  make — h*U 


280  *  JKILOTT8  REGONHOI68ANCE. 

produced,  and  no  wonder,  a  painful  impression  upon  foe  spirits  of  tin 
quinteroon. 

She  could  not  help  asking  herself  whether  Herbert's  disregard  of  her 
had  aught  to  do  with  this  ?  Was  it  possible  that  her  own  cousin  waa 
slighting  her  on  account  of  this  social  distinction  ?  Did  he,  too,  feel  shy 
of  that  taitd  ?  More  than  once  during  that  day  did  she  mentally  put 
these  interrogatories,  without  being  able  to  determine  whether  they 
merited  a  negative  or  affirmative  answer. 

And  what  was  her  errand  now  ?  To  resuscitate  within  her  soul  th« 
memory  of  one  moment  of  bliss — to  weave  still  more  inextricably  around 
her  heart  the  spell  that  was  threatening  to  strangle  it — to  stifle  the  hap- 
piness of  her  whole  life.  But  that  was  already  gone.  There  could  be 
no  daring  now — no  danger  worth  dread.  The  Zigzag  path  she  ascended 
with  free  step  and  ak  undaunted — her  fair,  bright  form  gleaming,-meteor* 
like,  amid  the  dark  green  foliage  of  the  forest. 


CHAPTER    XCII. 

A    JEALOUS    RECONNOISSANCE. 

THE  ravine  leading  up  the  rear  of  the  Jumbe  Rock — the  only  way  by 
which  its  summit  could  be  reached — though  easily  scaled  by  a  pedestrian, 
was  not  practicable  for  a  person  on  horseback.  On  reaching  the  base  of 
the  cliff,  the  jealous  equestrian  dismounted  ;  made  fast  her  bridle  to  the 
branch  of  a  tree ;  and,  after  unbuckling  the  little  spur  and  removing  it 
from  her  heel,  continued  the  ascent  "  a  pie."  Arrived  at  the  summit,  she 
took  her  stand  near  the  edge  of  the  platform,  in  a  position  that  com- 
manded an  unbroken  view  of  the  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome,  its 
shrubberies  and  surroundings.  Satisfied  with  the  situation,  she  instantly 
commenced  her  reconnoissance.  She  did  not,  at  first,  make  use  of  her 
lorgnette.  Any  human  figure  that  might  be  moving  around  the  house 
could  be  seen  by  the  naked  eye.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  use  the 
magnifying  lens,  should  there  be  a  difficulty  of  identifying  them. 

For  some  moments  after  she  had  taken  her  stand,  no  one  made  appear- 
ance near  or  around  the  dwelling.  A  complete  tranquillity  reigned  over 
the  spot.  A  pet  axis  deer  skipping  over  the  lawn,  some  pea-fowl  moving 
amidst  the  shrubbery  of  the  parterre — their  purple  gorgets  gaily  glitter- 
ing in  the  sun — were  the  only  objects  animate  that  could  be  seen  near 
the  house. 

Farther  off  in  the  fields,  gangs  of  negroes  were  at  work  among  tu€ 
cane,  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  white  overseer  moving  in  their  midst, 
These  had  no  interest  for  the  observer  upon  the  rock ;  and  her  eye, 
scarce  resting  on  them  for  a  second,  returned  to  scan  the  enclosed  space 
approximate  to  the*  dwelling,  in  the  hope  of  there  seeing  something- 
form,  incident,  or  scene — that  might  give  her  some  jlue  to  the  mystery 
of  the  morning. 

In  respect  to  the  former,  she  was  not  disappointed.  Forms,  scene^ 
and  incidents  were  all  offered  in  succession  ;  and  though  they  did  but 
Mttle  to  elucidate  the  enigma  which  had  carried  her  to  that  aerial  post  of 


A  JfiALOtJS   HECONtfOiSSAHOJB. 

observation,  they  had  the  effect  of  calming,  to  some  extent,  the  jeakmi 
thought  that  was  distressing  her. 

First  she  saw  a  gentleman  and  lady  step  out  from  the  house  and  take 
their  stand  among  the  statues.  At  the  sight  she  felt  a  slight  flutter  of 
uneasiness;  until  through  the  lorgnette  she  looked  upon  hay-coloured 
hair  and  whiskers,  enabling  her  to  identify  the  owner  as  Smythje.  Thii 
gave  her  a  species  of  contentment;  and  her  jealous  spirit  was  still 
farther  t/anquilised  when  the  glass  revealed  to  her  the  features  of  Kate 
Vaughan  overspread  with  an  expression  of  extreme  sadness. 

"  Good  I"  muttered  the  delighted  spy  ;  "  that  tells  a  tale.  She  cannot 
have  seen  him  ?  Surely  not,  or  she  would  not  be  looking  so  woe-be 
gone  ?" 

At  this  moment  another  figure  was  seen  approaching  across  the  par- 
terre towards  the  two  who  stood  among  the  statues.  It  was  that  of  a 
man  in  a  dark  dress.  Herbert  Vaughan  wore  that  colour.  With  a  fresh 
flutter  of  uneasiness,  the  lorgnette  was  carried  back  to  the  eye. 

"  Bah  1  it  is  not  he.  A  fellow  with  a  common  face — a  servant,  I  sup- 
pose ?  Very  likely,  the  valet  I've  heard  of  \  He  has  brought  some 
message  from  the  house  ?  Ha !  they're  going  in  again.  No,  only  the 
master.  She  stays.  Odd  enough  he  should  leave  her  alone  1  So  much 
for  your  politeness,  Mr.  Montagu  Smeth-jay!" 

And,  with  a  sneering  laugh  as  she  pronounced  the  name,  the  fair  spy 
again  took  her  glass  from  her  eye,  and  appeared  for  a  moment  to  give 
way  to  the  gratification  which  she  had  drawn  from  what  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  observing.  Certainly  there  were  no  signs  of  the  presence  of 
Herbert  Vaughan  about  the  precincts  of  Mount  Welcome,  nor  anything 
to  indicate  that  he  had  had  an  interview  with  his  cousin.  If  so,  it  must 
have  ended  just  as  the  Jewess  might  have  wished  :  since  the  expres- 
sion observable  on  the  countenance  of  Kate  showed  anything  but  the 
traces  of  a  reconciliation.  Pleased  to  contemplate  her  in  this  melan- 
choly mood,  her  jealous  rival  again  raised  .her  glass  to  her  eye. 

"  Ha  1"  she  exclaimed  on  the  instant.  "  Whatever  is  the  nigger  doing 
in  front  of  the  statue  ?  She  appears  to  be  talking  to  it.  An  interesting 
dialogue,  I  do  declare !  Ha  1  ha !  ha  1  Perhaps  she  is  worshipping  it  ? 
Ha !  ha !  She  seems  as  much  statue  as  it.  '  Patience  upon  a  monument, 
smiling' Hal  ha!  hal 

"  Ah,  now,"  resumed  the  hilarious  observer,  still  gazing  though  the 
glass,  "  she  turns  from  the  statue.  As  I  live,  she  is  looking  up  this  way! 
She  cannot  see  me  ?  No,  not  with  the  naked  eye.  Besides  there  is  only 
my  head  and  hat  above  the  edge  of  the  rock.  She  wont  make  them  out. 
How  steadfastly  she  looks  this  way  I  A  smile  upon  her  face  1  That,  or 
something  like  it  1  One  might  fancy  she  was  thinking  of  that  pretty 
scene  up  here,  the  interesting  tableau — Smythje  on  his  knee.  Ha  1  ha ! 
ha! 

"  Ah  !  what  now  ?"  she  continued,  interrogatively  ;  at  the  same  time 
suddenly  ceasing  from  her  laughter,  as  she  saw  the  young  Creole  adjust 
the  scarf  over  her  head,  and  glide  towards  the  back  of  the  house. 
u  What  can  it  mean  ?  She  appears  bent  on  an  excursion  !  Alone,  too  I 
Yes,  alone,  as  if  she  intended  it !  See !  She  passes  the  house  with 
•tealthy  step — looks  towards  it,  as  if  fearing  some  one  to  come  forth  and 
interrupt  her  1  Through  the  garden! — through  the  gate  in  t 
Ha  I  she's  coming  up  the  mountain1" 


282  A  SPY  IN  AMBtTSH. 

As  the  Jewess  made  this  observation,  she  stepped  a  pace  forward 
upon  the  rock,  to  gain  a  better  view.  The  lorgnette  trembled  as  she  hold 
it  to  her  eye :  her  whole  frame  was  quivering  with  emotion. 

"  Up  the  mountain  1"  muttered  she.  "  Yes,  up  the  mountain !  And 
for  what  purpose  ?  To  meet — Herbert  Vaughan  ?" 

A  half-suppressed  scream  accompanied  the  thought ;  while  the  glaat 
towered  by  her  side,  seemed  ready  to  fall  from  her  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XCIIL 

A.    SPY    IN    AMBUSH. 

You  have  seen  a  prond  bird,  whose  wing  has  been  broken  by  the  fatal 
bullet,  drop  helpless  to  the  earth  ? 

So  fell  the  heart  of  Judith  Jessuron  from  the  high  confidence  that  but 
the  moment  before  had  been  buoying  it  up. 

The  sight  of  Kate  Vaughan  coming  up  the  mountain  path  at  once  rob- 
bed it  of  exultation — even  of  contentment. 

What  errand  could  the  young  Creole  have  up  there,  unless  that  of  an 
assignation  ?  And  with  whom,  but  the  man  who  was  so  mysteriously 
missing  ? 

Her  surreptitious  departure  from  the  dwelling — the  time  chosen,  when 
Smythje  was  out  of  the  way — her  quick  gait  and  backward  glances  as 
she  stola  thr%ugh  the  shrubbery  :  all  indicated  a  fear  of  being  seen  and 
followed. 

And  why  should  she  fear  either,  if  bent  upon  an  ordinary  errand  ? 
Mr.  Smythje  was  not  her  father,  nor  as  yet  her  husband.  Why  should 
she  care  to  conceal  her  intentions  from  him :  unless,  indeed,  they  were 
clandestine,  and  pointing  to  that  very  purpose  which  the  jealous  Jewesi 
had  conjectured — a  rendezvous  with  Herbert  Vaughan  ? 

Judith  felt  convinced  of  it — so  fully  that,  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
young  Creole  fairly  started  up  the  sloping  path,  she  glided  to  the  rear 
edge  of  the  platform,  and  looked  down,  expecting  to  see  the  other  party 
to  the  assignation. 

True,  she  saw  no  one :  but  this  did  little  to  still  the  agitation  how 
vibrating  through  every  nerve  of  her  body.  He  was  not  in  sight,  but 
that  signified  not.  Perhaps  he  was  at  that  moment  within  hearing  and 
might  be  seen,  but  for  the  forest  screen  that  covered  the  "  facade"  of  the 
mountain  ? 

Where  was  it  their  design  to  meet  ?  Where  had  they  named  their 
appointment  ? 

Judith  did  not  doubt  that  there  was  design  — jealousy  did  not  stay  to 
ask  the  question.  She  was  convinced  that  an  arrangement  had  been  made 
and  on  that  very  morning.  What  else  could  be  the  meaning  of  the 
double  message  ?  First,  to  demand  a  meeting  ;  secondly,  to  appoint  the 
place.  Yes,  that  would  explain  the  repetition  of  those  footmarks — that 
had  gone  twice  to  and  fro. 

What  spot  had  they  chosen  for  the  scene  of  their  clandestine  eiu-oun- 
ter? 

A  sudden  apprehension  seized  upon  the  spy.    She  might  lose  .si^lit  d 


A    Bft   IN    AMBtStl.  283 

them  ;  ai.d  then  they  would  enjoy  their  meeting  in  secret  and  uninterrup- 
ted. By  Heavens,  that  must  not  be  1  Her  spirit,  now  roused  to  the  ex« 
treme  pitch  of  jealousy,  cared  not  for  consequences.  End  as  the  sceua 
might,  she  was  resolved  on  its  interruption. 

The  only  chance  of  discovering  the  place  of  assignation  would  be  to 
keep  Kate  Vaughan  in  sight.  Perhaps  Herbert  was  already  there  wait- 
ing for  her?  He  would  be  there.  The  lover  is  always  first  upon  the 
ground  1 

Obedient  to  this  thought,  the  Jewess  rushed  back  across  the  platform  j 
»nd  once  more  directed  her  glance  down  the  mountain. 

She  saw  what  she  looked  for :  the  snow-white  snood  easily  distinguish 
able  among  the  dark  green  foliage — now  hidden  as  the  wearer  walked  un- 
der the  taU  trees — again  appearing  at  the  open  angles  where  the  road 
zigzagged. 

Most  of  the  path  could  be  seen  from  the  summit  of  the  rock :  for, 
although  rarely  used,  it  had  once  been  cleared  by  the  axe,  and  formed  an 
open  track  through  the  timber,  narrow,  but  perceptible  from  above. 

Judith,  still  marking  the  movements  of  the  kerchief,  swept  the  path 
with  her  glance  and  her  glass — up  to  the  point  where  it  reached  the  base 
of  the  rock  and  ran  round  to  the  rear.  Repeatedly  she  scanned  the  track, 
far  in  advance  of  the  climber,  expecting  to  see  some  one  appear — Herbert 
Vaughan,  of  course. 

If  aught  showed  among  the  trees — a  bird  fluttering  in  the  foliage,  fray- 
ed by  the  approach  of  the  gentle  intruder — the  heart  of  the  jealous 
Jewess  experienced  a  fresh  spasm  of  pain.  Though  certain  she  was 
soon  to  see  it,  she  dreaded  to  behold  the  first  blush  of  that  clandestine 
encounter.  To  see  them  come  together,  perhaps  rush  into  each  other's, 
arms,  their  lips  meeting  in  the  kiss  of  mutual  love — oh,  agony  unendur- 
able ! 

As  she  surmised  the  scene  before  her  fancy,  for  a  moment  her  proud 
spirit  shrank,  quailed  and  cowed  within  her  and  her  form  of  bold  noble 
development  shook  like  a  fragile  reed. 

«***.•**» 

Up  the  steep  with  springy  step  climbed  the  young  Creole,  lightly  as  a 
bird  upon  the  wing,  unconscious  that' she  was  observed,  and  of  all  others, 
by  the  rival  she  had  most  reason  to  dread. 

After  completing  the  numerous  windings  of  the  path,  she  at  length  ar- 
rived within  some  twenty  paces  of  the  rock — here  the  road  turned  roun-J 
to  the  rear.  She  knew  the  way ;  and,  without  pausing,  kept  on  till  she 
stood  within  the  embouchwre  of  the  sloping  ravine. 

Up  to  this  the  Jewess  had  marked  her  every  movement,  watching  her 
along  the  way.  Not  without  some  surprise  had  she  perceived  her  ir.ton- 
tion  to  climb  the  Jumbe  Rock — which  by  the  direction  she  had  takec 
was  now  evident, 

The  surprise  soon  passed,  however,  with  a  quick  reflection.  The  sum 
mit  of  the  rock — that  place  already  hallowed  by  a  love  scene — was  tho 
spot  chosen  for  the  meeting  ! 

On  discovering  Kate's  determination  to  ascend  the  rock,  which  she  had 
now  divined  by  seeing  her  pass  roim-t  to  the  rear,  the  Jewess  stayed  no 
longer  upon  the  platform.  That  would  have  necessarily  led  to  an  encoun- 
ter between  the  two.  Not  that  Judith  would  havo  shunned  it,howeve* 
awkward,  however  contratie'rri&n ..-,,.., 


284  A  ffclL  PtfEFOSfc 

It  was  n  -A  from  any  feeling  of  delicacy  that  she  determined  on  leavicg 
the  place  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  action  that  followed  betrayed  a  motive 
of  a  very  opposite  character. 

Just  where  the  ravine  debouched  upward  on  the  platform,  a  lateral 
cleft  opened  to  one  side.  Its  bottom  was  but  a  few  feet  below  the  sum 
mit  level ;  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of  evergreen  bushes,  whose  tops 
rising  to  an  equal  height  with  the  table  above,  completely  filled  the  hoi 
low  with  their  dense  frondage. 

|     The  quick  eye  of  Judith  Jessuron  at  once  detected  the  convenience  of 

"this  covert.    There  concealed,  she  could  see  without  being  seen.    From 

under  the  grim  shadows  of  those   dark  evergreens,  she   could   behold 

what  was  like  enough  to  wring  her  heart :  though  she  was  now  ;  eckless 

of  the  result. 

Watching  her  opportunity — when  the  eyes  of  the  young  Creole  were 
turned  downwards — she  glided  into  the  lateral  ravine,  and  concealed  her- 
self behind  the  curtain  of  leaves.  Cowering  within  the  covert,  she 
awaited  the  ascent  of  her  rival. 

Amidst  the  tumult  of  her  emotions,  there  was  no  chance  to  reason 
calmly.  Suspicion  of  Herbert's  perfidy— for  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
the  young  man  had  shown  her  attentions,  or,  at  all  events,  had  passively 
permitted  her  to  think  so— -suspicion  of  his  faithlessness  had  now  become 
certainty.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  intended  meeting  be- 
tween him  and  his  cousin — at  least,  so  Judith,  blinded  by  her  passions, 
believed. 

There  was  Kate  coming  upon  the  ground,  and  Herbert — he  would  soon 
be  after !  Strange  he  had  not  arrived  first  I  But  that  had  not  much 
significance.  He  could  not  be  far  off;  and,  no  doubt,  would  be  there  in 
good  time — perhaps,  overtake  his  sweetheart  ere  she  could  reach  the 
summit  of  the  rock  ? 

Thus  ran  the  reflections  of  the  rival. 

She  listened  for  Herbert's  voice  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  him 
hailing  from  below. 

She  cast  listless  glances  down  the  ravine,  in  the  belief  she  should 
presently  see  him  following  franticly  upon  the  footsteps  of  his  cousin, 
and  chiding  himself  for  not  being  foremost  at  the  tryst 


CHAPTER  XCIV. 

A    FELL    PURPOSE    DEFEATED. 

JUDITH  had  as  yet  traced  out  no  definite  plan  of  action — trusting  to  cir- 
cumstances to  suggest  what  course  she  should  pursue. 

Only  on  one  thing  had  she  come  to  a  determination— to  permit  both  to 
pass  up  on  the  rock  before  showing  herself. 

She  resolved  as  long  as  possmle,  to  restrain  her  instinct  of  revenge. 
She  would  see  them  meet — be  witness  of  their  mutual  endearments — be 
sure  of  it ;  and  then  would  be  her  time  to  launch  forth  into  the  full  tor- 
rent of  recrimination. 

Something  of  this  kind  was  the  course  she  had  shaped  out  for  herself 
— a  till  but  vaguely,  still  dependent  on  chance. 


A  TELL  FUBPOBB  DEFEATED. 

The  young  Creole,  little  suspecting  the  proximity  of  her  spiteful  rival, 
ascended  the  ravine — close  passing  the  spot  where  the  latter  was  con- 
cealed. Altogether  unconscious  of  being  observed,  she  stepped  upon 
the  platform  ;  and  crossing  over,  stopped  near  the  opposite  edge — precise- 
ly upon  the  spot  where  she  had  stood  during  the  eclipse,  hallowed  by 
such  sweet  remembrance. 

Undoing  the  slight  knot  that  had  confined  the  kerchief  under  her 
chin,  and  holding  it  in  both  hands,  so  as  to  shade  her  eyes  from  the  sun, 
•he  stood  for  some  time  gazing  into  the  valley  below — not  the  one 
where  lay  the  mansion  of  her  father,  but  that  in  which  dwelt  a  relative 
still  dearer.  As  before,  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  penn —  that  sombre  V 
pile  which,  despite  the  dim  shadows  that  surrounded  it,  seemed  to  her 
the  brightest  spot  upon  the  earth.  The  sun  in  the  sky  above  was  nothing 
fa  brightness  to  the  light  that  circled  there— the  light  of  Herbert's  love. 
What  would  she  not  have  given  to  have  lived  in  that  light?  What  to 
have  been  that  favorite  who  now  basked  in  it  ? 

"  Would  that  I  could  see  him  once  again,"  she  murmured,  "  before  that 
hour  when  we  must  meet  no  more :  for  then  even  the  thought  would  be 
a  crime  1  If  I  could  only  see  him  once— only  speak  with  him,  I  feel  as  if 
I  should  tell  him  all.  Though  he  cannot  love  me,  I  am  sure  he  would 
pity  me.  Even  that,  it  seems  to  me,  would  soothe — it  could  not  cure 
Oh !  why  did  he,  upon  this  very  spot — why  those  glances  I  can  never 
forget  ?  I  can  see  them  now — his  eyes  as  they  were  then,  gazing  into 
mine,  as  if  something  passed  between  us — something  that  sank  into  the 
very  depths  of  my  soul  Oh !  Herbert  I  why  did  you  so  regard  me  ? 
but  for  that  it  might  have  passed.  But  now — never!  Ah,  Herbert  1 
Herbert!" 

In  her  anguish  the  young  Creole  pronounced  the  last  words  aloud. 

Only  the  name  was  heard  by  Judith  Jessuron ;  but  that  fell  upon  her 
ear  wSth  fearful  effect,  piercing  through  her  heart  like  a  poisoned  arrow. 
If  she  had  any  doubts  about  the  purpose  of  Kate's  presence,  that  word 
had  decided  them.  The  Creole  had  now  declared  it  with  her  own  tongue  I 

On  the  instant  a  thought,  dread  and  dire,  commenced  taking  shape  in 
the  heart  of  the  jealous  woman.  She  felt  her  bosom  stirred  to  a  pur- 
pose bold  and  black  as  hell  itsel£ 

That  purpose  was  nothing  less  than  the  destruction  of  her  rival — the 
death  of  Kate  Vaughan ! 

The  circumstances  suggested  the  mode.  The  young  Creole  was  stand- 
Ing  upon  the  escarpment  of  the  cliff — scarce  three  feet  from  its  edge.  A 
slight  push  from  behind  would  project  her  into  eternity ! 

Not  much  risk  either  in  the  committal  of  the  crime.  The  bushes  be- 
UTV  would  conceal  her  body — at  least,  for  a  length  of  time;  and,  when 
fcund,  what  would  be  the  verdict?  What  could  it,  but  felo-de-se? 

The  circumstances  would  give  colour  to  this  surmise.  Even  her  own 
father  might  fancy  it,  as  the  consequences  of  his  forcing  her  to  be  wed- 
ded against  her  will.  Besides,  had  she  not  stolen  surreptitiously  from 
the  house,  taking  advantage  of  an  opportunity  when  no  eye  was  upon 
her? 

Other  circumstances  equally  favoured  the  chances  of  safety.     No  one 
•eomed  to  know  that  Kate  had  come  up  to  the  Jumbe*  Rock ;  and  not  a 
could  be  aware  that  she,  Judith,  wag  there :  for  the  kad  neithsr 
d  u«r  aitfc  way  one  by  tk«  way 


286  A  FELL  PURPOSE  DEFEATED. 

No  fcye  was  likely  to  be  witness  of  the  act.  Even  though  the  forme 
of  the  actors  might  be  descried  from  the  valley  below,  it  would  be  at  too 
great  a  distance  for  any  one  to  distinguish  the  character  of  the  proceed- 
ing. Besides,  it  was  one  chance  in  a  thousand  if  any  eye  should  be 
accidently  turned  towards  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  At  that  hour 
the  black  labourers  in  the  fields  were  too  busy  with  their  task  to  be 
allowed  the  freedom  of  gazing  idly  upon  the  Jumbe  Rock. 

With  a  fearful  rapidity  coursed  these  thoughts  through  the  mind  of  the 
intended  murderess — each  adding  fresh  strength  to  her  horrible  purpose, 
and  causing  it  to  culminate  towards  the  point  of  execution. 

Her  jealousy  had  long  since  become  a  strong  passion,  to  which  she 
had  freely  abandoned  her  soul.  Already  was  it  yearning  for  revenge ; 
and  now  that  an  opportunity  seemed  to  offer  for  gratifying  it,  she 
could  no  longer  restrain  herself.  The  chance  was  too  tempting — the 
demoniac  desire  became  uncontrollable. 

Casting  a  glance  down  the  ravine — to  make  sure  that  no  one  came  that 
way — and  another  towards  Kate,  to  see  that  her  face  was  still  turned 
away,  Judith  stole  softly  out  of  the  bushes,  and  mounted  upon  the  rock. 

Silently,  as  treads  the  tigress  approaching  her  prey,  did  she  advance 
across  the  platform — towards  the  spot  where  stood  her  .intended  victim, 
utterly  unconscious  of  the  dread  danger  that  was  so  nigh  1 

Was  there  no  voice  to  warn  her  ? 

There  was — the  voice  of  Smythje ! 

"  Nw-haw,  deaw  Kate !  That  yaw  up  there  on  the  wock  ?  Aw,  b* 
Sawve!  what  a  pwecious  chase  aw've  had  aftaw  yawl  1  here  isn't  a 
bweath  left  in  my  body !  Haw,  haw  !" 

Judith  heard  the  voice  ;  and  like  a  cheated  tigress,  was  aVout  to  re- 
treat to  her  lair,  when  Kate  half  facing  about,  compelled  her  to  keep  her 
ground.  With  the  suddeness  of  a  thought  she  had  changed  her  terrific 
attitude  ;  and  as  1he  eyes  of  the  Creole  rested  upon  her,  she  was  stand- 
ing with  her  arms  hanging  negligently  downward,  in  the  position  of  one 
who  had  just  stepped  forward  upon  the  spot ! 

Kate  beheld  her  with  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  alarm  ;  for  the  wild 
look  that  still  lingered  in  the  eye  of  the  disappointed  and  baulked  mur- 
deress could  not  escape  observation. 

Before  either  could  say  a  word,  the  voice  of  Smythje  was  again  heard 
speaking  from  below. 

4!  Dea*  q^eetyaw,  I  am  coming  !  Aw  shall  pwesently  be  up,"  continued 
he  ;  his  voice  constantly  changing  its  direction,  proclaiming  that  he  con- 
tinued to  advance  round  the  rock  towards  the  ravine  in  the  rear. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Vaughan,"  said  the  Jewess,  with  a  sweeping 
curtsey  and  a  cynical  glance  towards  Kate ;  "  most  empathically,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  The  second  time  I  have  intruded  upon  you  in  this  delight- 
ful place !  I  assure  you  my  presence  here  is  altogether  an  accident  ; 
and  to  prove  that  I  have  no  desire  to  interfere,  I  shall  bid  you  a  very 
good  morning  1" 

So  saying,  the  daughter  of  Jacob  Jessuron  turned  towards  the  down- 
ward path,  and  had  disappeared  from  the  platform  before  Kate  could 
command  words  to  express  either  her  astonishment  or  indignation. 

"  Ba  Jaw-aw-ve  1"  gasped  Smvthje,  breathless  on  reaching  the  platform 


CYNTHIA'S  BEPOBT.  287 

*  Had  yaw  company  up  heaw  ?  Shawly  aw  saw  sorae  one  gawirig  out 
fwom  the  wavine — a  lady  iu  a  widing  dwess  ?" 

*•  Mies  Jeesuron  has  been  here." 

'  Aw,  Mies  Jeesuwon — that  veway  remarkable  queentyaw  !  Gawiug 
to  be  mawied  to  the — yaw  cousin,  'tis  repawted.  Ba  Jawve,  she'll  make 
the  young  fellaw  a  fine  wife,  if  she  dawn't  want  too  much  of  haw  awn 
way  1  Haw  1  haw  1  what  do  yaw  think  about  it,  deaw  Kate  ?" 

"  I  have  no  thoughts  about  it  Mr.  Smythje.  Pray  let  us  return  home.* 
\  Smythje  might 'have  noticed,  though  without  comprehending  it,  th* 
anguished  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered. 

"  Aw,  veway  well.  A'm  weady  to  go  back.  But,  deaw  Kate,  what  a 
womp  yaw  are,  to  be  shawr  1  Yaw  thought  to  pway  me  a  twick,  like  the 
young  bwide  in  the  misletaw  bough.  Haw !  haw  1  veway  amusing ! 
Nevaw  mind  1  Yaw  are  not  so  unfawtunate  as  that  fair  queetyaw  ;  saw 
yawr  white  scarf  amid  the  gween  trees,  and  that  guided  me  to  yaw 
seqwet  hiding-place.  Haw !  haw  1" 

Little  suspected  Smythje  how  very  near  had  been  his  affianced  to  a 
fate  as  unfortunate  as  that  of  the  bride  of  Lovel — as  little  as  Kate  that 
fimythje  had  been  her  preserver. 


CHAPTER   XCV. 
CYNTHIA'S   REPORT. 

CYNTHIA  was  not  slow  in  responding  to  the  summons  of  the  Jew,  who 
possessed  an  influence  over  her,  which,  if  not  so  powerful,  was  also  less 
mysterious  than  that  wielded  by  the  myal-man — since  it  was  the  power 
of  money.  The  mulatta  liked  money,  as  most  people  do  ;  and  for  the  same 
reason  as  most:  because  it  afforded  the  means  for  indulging  in  dissipation, 
which  with  Cynthia  was  a  habit. 

Very  easily  did  she  find  an  opportunity  for  paying  a  visit  to  the  penn 
— the  more  easily  that  her  master  was  absent.  But  even  had  he  been  at 
h'  me,  she  would  have  had  but  little  difficulty  in  framing  an  excuse,  or 
rather  would  she  have  gone  without  one. 

In  the  days  of  which  we  write,  slavery  had  assumed  a  very  altered 
I 'base  in  the  West  Indies  ;  more  especially  in  the  island  of  Jamaica.  Tha 
voices  of  Wilberforce  and  Clarkson  had  already  reached  the  remotest 
corners  of  the  island  ;  and  the  plantation  negroes  were  beginning  to  hear 
the  first  nmtterings  of  the  emancipation.  The  slave-trade  was  doomed  ; 
and  it  was  expected  that  the  doom  of  slavery  itself  would  soon  be 
declared. 

The  black  bondsmen  had  become  emboldened  by  the  prospect ;  and 
there  was  no  longer  that  abject  submission  to  the  wanton  will  of  the 
master  and  the  whip  of  the  driver,  as  had  existed  of  yore.  It  was  not 
uncommon  for  slaves  to  take  "  leave^  of  absence"  for  days ;  returning 
without  fear  of  chastisement,  and  sometimes  staying  away  altogether 
Plantation  revolts  had  become  common,  frequently  ending  in  ineendiari&m, 
a&d  otbfcr  sconop  of  the  most  sanguinary  character ;  and  moje  than  p$e 


288  CYNTHIA'S  EEPOBT. 

band  t»f - "  runaways"  had  established  themselves  in  the  most  remote  fact 
nesses  of  the  mountains  ;  where  in  defiance  of  the  authorities,  and  dea« 
pite  the  preventive  service — somewhat  negligently  performed  by  their 
prototypes,  the  Maroons — they  preserved  a  rude  independence,  partially 
sustained  by  pilfering,  and  partly  by  freebooting  of  a  bolder  kind.  These 
runaways  were,  in  enect,  playing  a  '  role,'  in  complete  imitation  of  what 
at  an  earlier  period,  had  been  the  metier  of  the  original  Maroons  ;  while, 
*«  already  stated,  the  Maroons  themselves,  employed  upon  the  sage  but 
infamous  principle  of  "  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  had  now  become  the 
detective  police  of  the  island.  i 

Under  such  conditions  of  slavery,  the  bold  Cynthia  was  not  the  woman  I 
to  trouble  herself  about  asking  leave  of  absence,  nor  to  be  deterred  by 
any  slight  circumstance,  from  taking  it ;  therefore,  at  an  early  hour,  of  the 
day,  almost  upon  the  heels  of  Blue  Dick,  the  messenger,  she  made  her  ap- 
pearance at  tne  penn. 

Her  conference  with  Jessuron,  though  it  threw  no  light  on  the  where- 
abouts of  the  missing  book-keeper,  nor  the  cause  of  his  absence,  was  not 
without  interest  to  the  Jew,  since  it  revealed  facts  that  gave  him  some 
comfort. 

He  had  already  learnt  from  Blue  Dick  that  the  Gustos  had  started  on  hia 
journey,  and  from  Cynthia  he  now  ascertained  the  additional  fact,  that 
before  starting  he  had  taken  the  sptll.  It  had  been  administered  in  hia 
*tirrup-wp  of  "  swizzle." 

This  intelligence  was  the  more  gratifying,  in  view  of  the  apprehensions 
which  the  Jew  was  beginning  to  feel  in  regard  to  his  Spanish  '  emplovea.' 
If  the  spell  should  do  its  work  as  quickly  as  Chakra  had  said,  tneae 
worthies  would  be  anticipated  in  the  performance  of  their  dangerous 
duty. 

Another  important  fact  was  communicated  by  Cynthia.  She  had  seek 
Chakra  that  morning — just  after  her  roaster  had  taken  his  departure, 
There  had  been  an  arrangement  between  her  and  the  myal-man  to  meet 
at  their  usual  trysting-place — contingent  on  the  setting  out  of  the  Gustos. 
As  this  contingency  had  transpired,  of  course  the  meeting  had  taken 
place — its  object  being  that  Cynthia  might  inform  Chakra  of  such  events 
as  might  occur  previous  to  the  departure. 

Cynthia  did  not  know  for  certain  that  Chakra  had  followed  the  Gustos. 
The  myal-man  had  not  told  her  of  his  intention  to  do  so.     But  she  fully 
believed  he  had.     Something  h~<r  had  let  fall   during   their   conference  . 
guided  her  to  this  belief.     Besides,  on  leaving  her,  Ghakra,  instead  of  $ 
returning  towards  his  haunt  in  the  Duppy's  Hole,  had  gone  off  along  the 
road  in  the  direction  of  Savanna. 

This  was  the  substance  of  Cynthia's  report ;  and  having  been  well  re 
wi&rdod  for  the  communication,  the  mulatta  returned  to  Mount  Welcome. 

Notwithstanding  the  gratification  which  her  news  afforded,  it  was  far 
ft  Dm  tranquillising  the  spirit  of  Jacob  Jessuron. 

The  absence  of  Herbert  Vaughan  still  continued — still  unexplained, 
and  as  the  hours  passed  and  night  drew  near,  without  any  signs  of  his 
return,  Jessuron — and  it  may  be  said  Judith  as  well — became  more  and 
uneasy  about  his  disappearance. 

•ludith  was  puzzled  a»  well  as  pained.    Her  suspicion  that  Herbert 


A  ffAY   OF   CONJECTURES. 

had  had  an  appointment  with  his  cousin  Kate  had  been  somewhat 
shaken,  by  what  she  had  seen — as  well  as  what  she  had  not  seen :  for 
on  leaving  the  Jumbe  rock  she  had  not  ridden  directly  home.  Instead 
of  doing  so,  she  had  lingered  for  a  length  of  time  around  the  summit  of 
the  mountain,  expecting  Herbert  to  show  himself.  As  she  had  neither 
encountered  him,  nor  any  traces  of  him,  she  was  only  too  happy  to  con- 
clude that  her  surmises  about  the  meeting  were,  after  all,  but  fancy ;  and 
that  no  assignation  had  been  intended.  Kate's  coming  up  to  the  Jumbe 
rock  was  a  little  queer  ;  but  then  Smythje  had  followed  her,  and  Judith 
had  not  heard  that  part  of  the  conversation  which  told  that  his  being  there 
was  only  an  accident — the  accident  «f  having  discovered  the  retreat  to 
which  the  young  Creole  had  betaken  nerself. 

These  considerations  had  the  effect  of  soothing  the  jealous  spirit  of  the 
Jewess ;  but  only  to  a  very  slight  extent :  for  Herbert's  absence  was 
ominous — the  more  so,  thought  Judith,  as  she  remembered  a  conversa- 
tion that  had  lately  passed  between  them. 

Nor  did  she  feel  any  repentance  for  the  dark  deed  she  had  designed ; 
and  would  certainly  have  executed,  but  for  the  well-timed  appearance  of 
Smythje  upon  the  scene.  The  words  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of 
Kate  Vaughan  had  been  a  sufficient  clue  to  her  reflections  ;  and  though  ha 
whose  name  she  had  mentioned  was  not  present  in  person,  the  Jewess 
did  not  doubt  that  he,  and  only  he,  was  the  subject  of  that  soliloquy. 

There  might  have  been  remorse  for  the  deed,  had  it  been  accomplished 
but  there  was  no  repentance  for  the  design.  Jealousy,  bitter  as  ever  in 
the  breast  of  Judith,  forbade  this. 

Judith's  return  did  not  make  the  matter  any  clearer  to  Jessuron.  She 
had  no  story  to  tell,  except  that  which  she  deemed  it  more  prudent  to 
keep  to  herself.  Her  not  having  encountered  Herbert  during  her  ride, 
only  rendered  his  absence  more  difficult  of  explanation. 


CHAPTER    XCVL 

A  DATOF   CONJECTURES. 

TOWARDS  sunset  fresh  inspection  was  made  of  the  tracks,  Jessuron  going 
in  person  to  examine  them.  The  skilled  herdsman  was  again  questioned  ; 
and  on  this  occasion  a  fresh  fact  was  elicited  ;  or  rather  a  conjecture, 
which  the  man  had  not  made,  before,  since  he  had  not  noticed  the  cir- 
cumstance on  which  he  rested  it. 

It  was  some  peculiarity  in  the  sole  of  the  shoe  that  had  made  the 
strange  track,  and  which  guided  the  herdsman  to  guess  who  was  the 
owner.  In  scouring  the  forest-paths  of  his  cattle,  he  had  observed  that 
footmark  before,  or  one  very  like  it. 

"If  t  be  de  same,  massa,"  remarked  he  in  reply  to  the  cross-questioning 
of  the  Jew,  "  den  I  knows  who  owns  dat  fut  It  longs  to  that  ere  cap- 
pen  of  Maroons." 

"Cubina?" 

u  Ah— that,  jest  &e  beny  man, ' 


£90  A   DAT   OF   OONJEOTUKBS. 

The  Jew  listened  to  this  conjecture  with  marked  inquietude ;  which 
was  increased  as  another  circumstance  was  brought  to  his  knowledge ; 
that  Quuco  the  Maroon — who  had  been  arrested  along  with  Herbert  on 
the  day  of  his  first  appearance  at  the  penn — had  been  lately  seen  in  com- 
munication with  the  latter,  and  apparently  in  a  clandestine  manner. 
Blue  Dick  was  the  authority  for  this  piece  of  incidental  intelligence 

The  penn-keeper's  suspicions  had  pointed  to  Cubina  at  an  earlier  hoTU 
>f  the  day.  These  circumstances  strengthened  them. 

It  needed  but  another  link  to  complete  the  chain  of  evidence,  and  thii 
'»vas  found  in  the  tobacco-pipe  left  in  the  hammock  :  a  rather  unique  im- 
plement, with  an  iron  bowl,  and  a  stem  made  out  of  the  shankbone  of 
an  ibis. 

On  being  shown  the  pipe,  the  herdsman  recognised  it  on  sight.  It  was 
"  the  cutty"  of  Captain  Cubina.  More  than  once  had  he  met  the  Maroon 
with  the  identical  instrument  between  his  teeth. 

Jessuron  doubted  no  longer  that  Cubina  had  been  the  abductor  of  his 
book-keeper.  Nor  Judith,  either ;  for  the  Jewess  had  taken  part  in  the 
analytical  p'rocess  that  guided  to  this  conclusion. 

Judith  was  rather  gratified  at  the  result.  She  was  glad  it  was  no  worse. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  the  young  Englishman  had  only  gone  on  a  visit  to  the 
Maroon,  with  whom  she  knew  him  to  be  acquainted  ;  for  Judith  had  been 
informed  of  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  their  first  encounter. 
What  was  more  natural  than  a  sort  of  attachment  between  them,  resulting 
from  Buch  an  odd  introduction  ?  Curiosity  may  have  induced  Herbert  to 
accompany  the  Maroon  to  his  mountain  home  ;  and  this  was  sufficient  to 
explain  his  absence. 

True,  there  were  circumstances  not  so  easily  explained.  The  presence 
of  the  Maroon  at  the  penn — his  track  twice  to  and  fro — the  hurried  de- 
parture of  Herbert,  without  any  previous  notice  either  to  herself  or  to 
her  father — all  these  circumstances  were  suspicious  ;  and  the  spirit  of  the 
jealous  Judith,  though  partially  tranquillised  by  a  knowledge  of  the  new 
facts  that  had  come  to  light,  was,  nevertheless,  not  quite  relieved  from  its 
perplexity. 

The  same  knowledge  had  produced  an  effect  on  the  spirit  of  her  worthy 
parent  altogether  different.  So  far  from  being  gratified  by  the  idea  that 
his  book-keeper  was  in  the  company  of  the  Maroon  captain,  he  was  ox^ 
ncedingly  annoyed  by  it.  He  at  once  remembered  how  pointedly  Herbert 
!i:.id  put  certain  questions  to  him,  in  relation  to  the  fate  of  the  flogged 
runaway — the  prince.  He  remembered,  also,  his  own  evasive  answers ; 
and  he  now  foresaw,  that  in  the  case  of  the  questioner  being  in  the  com- 
pany of  Cubina,  the  latter  would  give  him  a  very  different  account  of  the 
transaction — in  fact  such  a  statement  as  could  not  fail  to  bring  about  the 
most  crooked  consequences. 

Once  in  possession  of  those  damning  facts,  the  young  Englishman — of 
whose  good  moral  principles  the  old  tfew  had  become  cognisant — would 
bo  less  likely  to  relish  him,  Jessuron,  for  a  father-in-law.  Such  an  awk- 
ward affair  coming  to  his  knowledge  might  have  the  effect,  not  only  to 
alienate  his  much-coveted  friendship — his  equally  solicited  love— but  to 
drive  him  altogether  from  a  house,  whose  hospitality  he  might  deeui  BUS- 
picious. 


THE   SICK   TRAV.ELLEB.  291 

Was  it  possible  that  this  very  result  had  already  arisen  ?  Wa«  the 
whole  scheme  of  the  penn-keeper  to  prove  a  failure  ?  Had  murder — the 
blackest  of  all  crimes — been  committed  in  vain  ?  There  was  but  little 
doubt  left  on  the  mind  of  Jacob  Jessuron  that  the  deed  was  now  done. 
Whether  by  the  poison  of  Cliakra,  or  the  steel  of  the  *ca9adores,'  so  far  aa 
the  Gustos  himself  was  concerned,  that  part  of  the  programme  would, 
by  this  time,  be  complete ;  or  so  near  its  completion,  that  no  act  of  the 
'instigator  could  stay  its  execution.  How,  when,  and  where  was  it  done  ? 
A  ml  had  it  been  done  in  vain  ?  During  the  early  part  of  that  same  night 
—and  on  through  the  midnight  hours — thus  interrogatively  reflected  the 
Jew.  He  slept  not;  or  only  in  short  spells  of  unquiet  slumber,  taken  in 
his  chair — as  on  the  night  before,  in  the  open  verandah.  It  was  care,  not 
conscience,  that  kept  him  awake — apprehension  of  the  future,  rather 
than  remorse  for  the  past.  After  midnight,  and  near  morning,  a  thought 
became  uncontrollable — a  desire  to  be  satisfied,  if  not  about  the  last  of 
these  interrogatories,  at  least  in  relation  to  the  former.  In  all  likelihood 
Chakra  would  by  that  time  have  returned — would  be  found  in  his  lair  in 
the  Duppy's  Hole.  Why  he  had  followed  the  Gustos,  Jessuron  could  not 
tell.  He  could  only  guess  at  the  motive.  Perhaps  he,  Chakra,  was  in 
fear  that  his  spell  might  not  be  sufficient ;  and  failing,  he  might  find  an 
opportunity  to  strengthen  it  ?  Or,  was  it  that  he  wished  to  be  witness 
to  the  final  scene  ?  to  exult  over  his  hated  enemy  in  the  last  hour  of  life  ? 
Knowing,  as  the  Jew  did,  the  circumstances  that  had  long  existed  between 
the  two  men — their  mutual  malice — Chakra's  deadly  purposes  of  venge- 
ance— this  conjecture  was  far  from  improbable.  It  was  the  true  one  ; 
though  he  also  gave  thought  to  another — that  perhaps  the  myal-man  had 
followed  his  victim  for  the  purpose  of  plundering  him.  To  ascertain  that 
ho  had  succeeded  in  the  preliminary  step — that  of  murdering  him — the 
Jew  forsook  his  chair-couch  ;  and,  having  habited  himself  for  a  nocturnal 
excursion,  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  Puppy's  Hole. 


CHAPTER  XCVII. 

THE      SICK     TRAVELLER. 

AFTER  passing  beyond  the  precincts  of  his  own  plantation,  and  traversing 
for  some  distance  a  by-road  known  as  the  Carrion  Crow,  Mr.  Vaughaii 
fct  length  reached  the  main  highway,  which  runs  between  Moritego  Bay 
on  the  north,  and  Savannal-a-Mer  on  the  southern  side  of  the  island. 

Here,  facing  southward,  he  continued  his  route- —Savanna-la- Mer  being 
the  place  where  he  intended  to  terminate  his  journey  on  horseback. 
Thence  he  could  proceed  by  sea  to  the  harbour  of  Kingston,  or  the  Old 
Harbour,  or  some  other  of  the  ports,  having  easy  communication  with  the 
capital. 

The  more  common  route  of  travel  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Montego 
Bay  to  Spanish  Town,  when  it  is  desired  to  make  the  journey  by  land,  if 
by  the  northern  road  to  Falmouth  harbour,  and  thence  by  St.  Ann's  and 
fccroaa  the  island,  The  pouthern  road  is  also  travelled  at  times,  without 


292  THE   8ICK   TEASELLER. 


the  TifcfcBsity  of  going  to  the  port  of  Savanna,  by  Lacovia,  ana  tho  parish 
of  St.  Elizabeth.  But  Mr.  Vaughan  prei'ourcii  the  easier  mode  of  transit 
—  on  board  ship  ;  and  knowing  that  coasting  vessels  were  at  all  times 
trading  from  Savanna  to  the  port  on  the  southern  side,  he  articipated  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  a  passage  to  Kingston.  This  was  one  reason  why 
he  directed  his  course  to  the  seaport  of  Savanna. 

He  had  another  motive  for  visiting  this  place,  and  one  that  influenced 
him  to  an  equal  or  greater  extent.  Savanna-la-Mer,  as  already  stated,  wan 
the  assize  town  of  the  western  district  of  the  island  —  otherwise  th* 
county  of  Cornwall  —  including  under  its  Jurisdiction  the  five  greai 
parishes  of  St.  James,  Hanover,  Westmoreland,  Trelawney,  and  St.  Eliza-  v 
beth,  and  consequently  the  town  of  Montegp  Bay.  Thus  constituted, 
Savanna  was  the  seat  of  justice,  where  all  plaints  of  importance  must  he 
preferred.  The^  process  which  Mr.  Vaughan  was  about  to  institute 
against  the  Jew  was  one  for  the  consideration  of  a  full  court  of  assize.  A 
surreptitious  seizure  of  twenty-four  slaves  was  no  small  matter  ;  and  the 
charge  would  amount  to  something  more  than  that  of  mere  malversation. 

Loftus  Vaughan  had  not  yet  decided  on  the  exact  terms  in  which  the 
accusation  was  to  be  made  ;  but  the  assize  town  being  not  only  the  seat 
of  justice,  but  the  head-quarters  of  the  legal  knowledge  of  the  county, 
he  anticipated  finding  there  the  counsel  he  required. 

This  then,  was  his  chief  reason  for  travelling  to  Spanish  Town  vid 
Savanna-la-Mer. 

For  such  a  short  distance  —  a  journey  that  might  be  done  in  a  day  —  a 
single  attendant  sufficed.  Had  he  designed  taking  the  land  route  to  the 
capital,  then  it  would  have  been  different.  Following  the  fashion  of  the 
island,  a  troop  of  horses,  a  numerous  escort  of  servants,  would  have  ac- 
companied the  great  Gustos. 

***** 

The  day  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  hottest,  especially  after  the  hour 
of  noon  ;  and  the  concentrated  rays  of  the  sun,  glaring  down  upon  the 
white  chalky  road,  over  which  the  traveller  was  compelled  to  pass,  ren- 
dered the  journey  not  only  disagreeable,  but  irksome. 

Added  to  this,  the  Gustos,  not  very  well  on  leaving  home,  had  been 
getting  worse  every  hour.  Notwithstanding  the  heat,  he  was  twice  at- 
tacked by  a  severe  chill  —  each  time  succeeded  by  its  opposite  extreme 
of  burning  fever,  accompanied  by  thirst  that  knew  no  quenching.  Thes*; 
attacks  had  also  for  their  concomitant  bitter  nausea,  vomiting,  and  a  ten 
dency  towards  cramp,  or  tetanus. 

Long  before  night  the  traveller  would  have  stopped  —  had  he  found  a 
hospital  le  rocf  to  shelter  him.  In  the  early  part  of  the  day  he  had  pas- 
sed though  the  more  settled  districts  of  the  country,  where  plantations 
were  numerous  ;  but  then,  not  being  so  ill,  he  had  declined  making  halt  — 
having  called  only  at  one  or  two  places  to  obtain  drink,  and  replenish  the 
irater  canteen  carried  by  his  attendant. 

It  was  only  late  in  the  afternoon  that  the  sj  mptoms  of  his  disease  be» 
«ame  specially  alarming  ;  and  then  he  was  passing  through  an  uninhabit- 
ed portion  of  the  country  —  a  wild  corner  of  Westmoreland  parish,  where 
house  was  to  be  met  with  for  miles  along  the  highway. 

Beyond  this  tract,  and  a  fo"-  .uiles  farther  ou  the  road,  he  would  reach 

?  grand  sugar  estate  *of  Oc>ut§l)t/    TktfFS  be  might  anticipate  9  (Jistin 


JL   HIDEOUS  INTRUDES,  i>93 

guished  reception ;  since  the  proprietor  of  tho  plantation,  besides  being 
noted  for  his  profuse  hospitality,  was  his  own  personal  friend. 

It  had  been  the  design  of  the  traveller,  before  starting  out,  to  make 
Content  the  half-way  house  of  his  journey,  by  stopping  there  for  the 
night  Still  desirous  of  carrying  out  this  design,  ho  pushed  on,  notwith- 
standing the  extreme  debility  that  had  seized  upon  his  frame,  and  which 
rendered  riding  upon  horseback  an  exceedingly  painful  operation.  So 
painful  did  it  become,  that  every  now  and  then  he  was  compelled  to  bring 
his  horse  to  a  halt,  and  remain  at  rest,  till  his  nerves  acquired  strength 
for  a  fresh  spell  of  exertion. 

Thus  delayed,  it  was  sunset  when  he  came  in  sight  of  Content.  Ho 
did  get  sight  of  it  from  a  hill,  on  the  top  of  which  he  had  arrived  jiet  aa 
the  sun  was  sinking  into  the  Carribean  Sea,  over  the  far  headland  of  Point 
Negrie.  In  a  broad  valley  below,  filled  with  the  purple  haze  of  twilight, 
he  could  see  the  planter's  dwelling,  surrounded  by  its  extensive  sugar- 
works,  picturesque  rows  of  negro  cabins,  so  near  that  he  could  distin- 
guished the  din  of  industry  and  the  hum  of  cheerful  voices,  borne  up- 
ward on  the  buoyant  air ;  and  could  see  the  forms  of  men  and  women 
clad  in  their  light  coloured  costumes,  flitting  in  mazy  movement  about 
the  precincts  of  the  place. 

The  Gustos  gazed  upon  the  sight  with  dizzy  glance.  The  sounds  fell 
confusedly  on  his  ear.  As  the  shipwrecked  sailor  who  sees  land  without 
the  hope  of  ever  reaching  it,  so  looked  Loftus  Vaughan  upon  the  valley 
of  Content.  For  any  chance  of  his  reaching  it  that  night,  without  being 
carried  thither,  there  was  none — any  more  than  if  it  had  been  a  hun- 
dred miles  distant — at  the  extreme  end  of  the  island.  He  could  ride  no 
farther.  He  could  no  longer  keep  the  saddle  ;  and,  slipping  out  of  it, 
he  tottered  into  the  arms  of  his  attendant! 

Close  by  the  road-side,  and  half  hidden  by  the  trees,  appeared  a  hut 
•unrounded  by  a  kind  of  rude   inclosure,  that  had  once  been  the  garden 
or  "  provision  ground"  of  a  negro.  •  Both  hut  and  garden  were  ruinate— 
the  former  deserted,  the  latter  overgrown  with  that  luxuriant  vegetation, 
which  in  tropic  soil  a  single  season  suffices  to  bring  forth. 

Into  this  hovel  the  Gustos  was  conducted  ;  or  rather  carried :  for  he  wan 
DOW  even  unable  to  walk. 

A  sort  of  plantation,  or  banquette,  of  bamboos — the  negro  couch  of  the 
negro  cabin — stood  in  one  corner  :  a  fixture  seldom  or  never  removed  on 
the  abandonment  of  such  a  dwelling.  Upon  this  the  Gustos  was  laid, 
*  ith  a  horse-blanket  spread  beneath,  andhis  camlet  cloak  thrown  over  him, 

More  drink  was  administered  ;  and  then  the  attendant,  by  command  of 
the  invalid  himself,  mounted  one  of  the  horses  and  galloped  off  to 
Content.  Loftus  Yaughan  was  alone  1 

CHAPTER   XCVIII. 

A     HIDEOUS     INTRUDES. 

LOFTUS  YAUGHAN  was  not  long  alone,  though  the  company,  that  came  first 
to  intrude  on  the  solitude  that  surrounded  him,  was  such  as  no  man,  either 
living  or  dying,  might  desire  to  see  by  his  bedside. 
The  black  groom  had  galloped  off  for  help  ;  and  ere  the  sound  of  hif 


294  ±   HIDEOUS 

horse'e  hoofs  had  ceased  to  reverberate  through  the  unclajed  chinks  of 
the  cabin,  the  shadow  of  a  human  form,  projected  through  the  open  door- 
way, was  flung  darkly  upon  the  floor. 

The  sick  man,  stretched  upon  the  cane  couch,  was  suffering  extreme 
pain,  and  giving  way  to  it  by  incessant  groaning.  Nevertheless  he  saw 
the  shadow  upon  the  floor  ;  and  this,  with  the  sudden  darkening  of  the 
door,  admonished  him  that  some  one  was  outside,  and  about  to  enter. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  presence  of  any  living  being  would  at 
that  moment  have  pleased  him — as  a  relief  to  the  lugubrious  loneliness 
that  surrounded  him  ;  and  perhaps  tha  presence  of  a  living  being  would 
nave  produced  that  effect.  But  in  that  shadow  which  had  fallen  across  the 
floor,  the  sick  man  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  the  form  of  one  who  should 
have  been  long  since  dead — the  form  of  Chakra  the  myal-man  1 

The  shadow  was  defined  and  distinct.  The  hut  faced  westward.  There 
were  no  trees  before  the  door — nothing  to  intercept  the  rays  of  the  now 
sinking  sun,  that  covered  the  ground  with  a  reddish  glare — nothing  save 
that  sinister  silhouette  which  certainly  seemed  to  betray  the  presence  of 
Chakra.  Only  the  upper  half  of  a  body  was  seen — a  head,  shoulders, 
and  arras.  In  the  shadow,  the  head  was  of  gigantic  size — the  mouth 
open,  displaying  a  serrature  of  formidable  teeth — the  shoulders,  sur- 
mounted by  the  hideous  hump — the  arms  long  and  ape-like !  Beyond 
doubt  was  it  cither  the  shadow  of  Chakra,  or  a  duplication  of  his  ghost 
— of  late  so  often  seen ! 

The  sick  man  was  too  terrified  to  speak — too  horrified  to  think.  It 
scarce  added  to  his  agony  when,  instead  of  his  shadow,  the  royal-nan 
Himself,  in  his  own  proper  and  hideous  aspect,  appeared  within  the  doer- 
way,  and  without  pause  stepped  forward  upon  the  floor  ! 

Loftus  Vaughan  could  no  longer  doubt  the  identity  of  the  man  who  had 
made  this  ill-timed  intrusion.  Dizzy  though  his  sight  from  a  disordered 
brain,  and  dim  as  it  had  been  rapidly  becoming,  it  was  yet  clear  enough  to 
enable  him  to  see  that  the  form  who  stood  before  him  was  no  phantasy — 
no  spirit  of  the  other  world  but  one  of  this — one  as  wicked  as  could  be 
found  amid  the  phalanx  of  the  fiends  of  darkness. 

He  had  no  longer  either  fancy  or  fear  about  Chakra's  ghost.  It  was 
Chakra's  self  he  saw — an  apparition  far  more  to  be  dreaded. 

The  scream  that  escaped  from  the  lips  of  Loftus  Vaughan  announced 
the  climax  of  his  horror.  On  uttering  it,  he  made  an  effort  to  rise  to  his 
feet ;  as  if  with  the  intention  of  escaping  from  the  hut ;  but  finally,  over- 
powered by  his  own  feebleness,  and  partly  yielding  to  a  gesture  of  me-, 
fiace  made  by  the  myal-man — and  which  told  him  that  his  retreat  was  in- 
tercepted— he  sank  back  upon  the  banquette  in  a  paralysis  of  despair. 

"  Ha !''  shouted  Chakra,  as  he  placed  himself  between  the  dying  man 
and  the  door.  "  No  use  fo'  try  'scape  1  no  use  wha'somdever !  Ef  ye 
wa'  able  get  'way  from  hya,  you  no  go  fur.  'Fore  you  walk  hunder  yard 
you  fall  down,  in  your  track,  like  new  drop  calf.  No  use  you  ole  lool. 
Whugh !" 

Another  shriek  was  the  only  reply  which  the  enfeebled  man  could 
make. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha  1"  vociferated  Chakra,  showing  his  shark-like  teeth  in  a 
Sendieh  laugh.  "  Ha !  ha !  ha  1  Shreek  away,  Cussus  Vaughan  1  Shreek 


A   HIDEOUS  iNTBtJDfiR. 

till  you  bust  you  windpipe.  Chakra  tell  you  it  no  use.  De  death  'pott 
uu  'pon  you- -it  am  in  you — an'  jess  when  dat  ar  sun  hab  cease  shine 
upon  do  floor,  you  go  join  you  two  brodder  jussuses  in  de  odder  world, 
wha'  you  no  fine  buckra  no  better  dan  brack  man.  Dey  gone  afore. 
Boaf  go  by  de  death  'pell.  Chakra  send  you  jess  de  same  ;  only  be  you 
keep  fo'  de  lass,  'kase  you  de  grann  Cussus,  an'  he  keep  him  bass  victim 
fo'  de  lass.  De  debbil  him  better  like  dat  way." 

"  Mercy,  mercy  1"  shrieked  the  dying  man. 

''Hal  hal  hal"  scornfully  answered  Chakra.  "Wha'  fo'  jou  en 
*  mercy  ?  D'you  gib  mercy  to  de  old  myal-man,  when  you  'im  chain  u{ 
dar  to  de  cabbage-tree  ?  You  show  no  mercy  den — Chakra  show  nout 
now.  You  got  die  1" 

"  Oh !  Chakra !  good  Chakra  I"  cried  the  Gustos,  raising  himself  upon 
the  couch,  and  extending  his  arms  in  a  passionate  appeal.  "  Save  me  ' 
save  my  life  I  and  I  will  give  you  whatever  you  wish — your  freedom— 
money " 

"  Ha !"  interrupted  Chakra,  in  a  tone  of  triumphant  exultation.  "  Gfcb 
me  freedom,  would  you  ?  You  gib  me  dat  arready,  You  money  dis  hya 
nigga  doan'  care  'bout — not  de  shell  ob  a  cocoa.  He  hab  plenty  money  ; 
he  get  what  he  want  fo'  de  lub  spell  and  de  death  'pell.  Whugh  1  de 
only  ting  you  hab  dat  he  care  'bout,  you  no  can  gib.  Chakra  take  dat 
'ithout  you  gibbin'." 

"  What  ?"  mechanically  asked  the  dying  man,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the 
face  of  Chakra  with  a  look  of  dread  import 

"  Lilly  Quasheba  1"  cried  the  monster,  in  a  loud  voice,  and  leering  hor- 
ribly as  he  pronounced  the  name.  "  Lilly  Quasheba  1"  he  repeated,  as  if 
doubly  to  enjoy  the  fearful  effect  which  his  words  were  producing.  "De 
dawter  ob  de  quaderoom !  Da's  only  fair,  Cussus,"  continued  he,  in  a 
mocking  tone.  "  You  had  de  modder  yourself — dat  is,  after  the  Maroon  I 
You  know  dat  ?  It  am  only  turn  an'  turn  'bout  Now  you  go  die, 
Chakra  he  com«  inlo'  de  dawter.  Ha  1  ha  !  ha  ! 

"  Whugh  1"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  and  bending 
down  over  the  form  of  the  Gustos,  now  prostrate ,  upon  the  couch. 
"  Whugh  1  I  b'lieve  the  buckra  gone  dead  ?" 

He  was  dead.  On  hearing  the  name  "  Lilly  Quasheba,"  accompanied 
by  such  a  fearful  threat,  a  wild  cry  had  escaped  from  his  lips.  It  was 
the  last  utterance  of  his  life.  On  giving  tongue  to  it,  he  had  fallen  back 
upon  the  bamboo  bedstead,  mechanically  drawing  the  cloak  over  his 
face,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  horrid  sight ;  and  while  the  myal-man,  gloat 
ing  over  him,  was  endeavouring  to  procrastinate  his  pangs,  the  poison 
had  completed  its  purpose. 

Chakra,  extending  one  of  his  long  arms,  raised  the  fold  from  off  hii 
face  ;  and,  holding  it  up,  gazed  for  a  moment  upon  the  features  of  hii 
hated  foe,  now  rigid,  blanched,  and  bloodless- 

Then,  as  if  himself  becoming  frightened  at  the  form  and  presence  of 
death,  the  savage  miscreant  dropped  the  cover  quickly  to  its  place ;  rose 
from  ni*  stooping  position ;  and  stole  stealthily  from  the  hut 


296  TWO   SPECULATIVE   TliAVELLBKi. 

CHAPTER  XCIX. 

TWO    SPECULATIYK    TRAVELLER*. 

THB  sun  was  sinking  out  of  sight  into  the  bosom  of  the  blue 
and  the  twilight,  long  since  extended  over  the  valley  below,  was  non 
spreading  its  purple  robe  around  the  summit  of  the  hill,  on  which  stood 
the  hut.  The  shadows  cast  by  the  huge  forest  trees  were  being  ex- 
changed for  the  more  sombre  shadows  of  the  coming  night ;  and  the 
outlines  of  the  hovel — now  a  house  of  death — were  gradually  becoming 
obliterated  in  the  crepusculous  obscurity. 

Inside  that  deserted  dwelling,  tenanted  only  by  the  dead,  reigned  still- 
ness, solemn  and  profound — the  silence  of  death  itself. 

Outside,  were  sounds  such  as  suited  the  solemnity  of  the  scene  ;  the 
mournful  loo*Dko-ah  of  the  eared  owl,  who  had  already  commenced 
quartering  the  aisles  of  the  forest ;  while  from  the  heaven  above  came 
the  wild  wail  of  the  potoo,  as  the  bird  went  across  the  fast  darkening 
sky,  in  search  of  its  insect  prey. 

To  these  lugubrious  utterances  there  was  one  solitary  exception. 
More  cheerful  was  the  champing  of  the  steel  bit — proceeding  from  the 
horse  that  had  been  left  tied  to  the  tree — and  the  quick,  impatient  stroke 
of  his  hoof,  as  the  animal  fretted  under  the  stings  of  the  mosquitoes,  be- 
coming more  bitter  as  the  darkness  descended. 

The  body  of  Loftus  Vaughan  lay  upon  the  bamboo  bedstead,  just  as 
Chakra  had  left  it.  No  hand  had  been  there  to  smooth  that  rude  pillow 
— no  friendly  finger  to  close  those  eyes  that  were  open,  and  saw  not — 
those  orbs  glassed  and  coldly  glaring  from  their  sunken  sockets  I 

As  yet  the  attendant  had  not  returned  with  that  succour  which  would 
come  too  late. 

Nor  was  it  possible  for  him  to  get  back  in  much  less  than  an  hour. 
Content,  though  in  actual  distance  scarcely  a  mile  from  the  hut,  was  full 
five  in  point  of  time.  The  slope  of  the  mountain  road  was  at  an  angle 
with  the  horizon  of  at  least  fitty  degrees.  There  could  be  no  rapid  rid- 
ing on  that  road — neither  up  nor  down,  upon  the  most  urgent  errand  ; 
and  the  black  groom  v/as  not  going  to  risk  life  by  a  broken  neck,  even  to 
iave  the  life  of  a  custos. 

It  would  be  a  full  hour,  then,  before  the  man  would  return.  As  yet 
;;iy  twenty  minutes  had  passed,  and  forty  more  were  to  come.  But  it 
7as  not  fated  that  even  for  those  forty  minutes  the  body  of  the  Custos 
/aughan  should  be  permitted  to  rest  in  peace.  Twenty  minutes  had 
scarcely  elapsed  after  Chakra  had  stolen  away  from  the  side  of  the  corpse, 
when  there  came  others  to  disturb  it,  and  with  a  rude  violence  almost 
sufficient  to  arouse  it  from  the  slnmber  of  death!  Had  Chakra  on  leav 
ing  the  hut  only  taken  the  main  road  backward  to  Montego  Bay — and 
that  was  the  direction  in  which  he  intended  going — he  would  have  met 
two  strange  men.  Not  so  strange  but  that  they  were  known  to  him; 
but  strange  enough  to  have  arrested  the  attention  of  an  ordinary  tra- 
veller. But  among  the  proclivities  of  the  myal-man,  that  of  travelling 
alon^  main  roads  was  one  in  which  he  did  not  indulge,  except  under  the 
most  unavoidable  circumstances.  Following  his  usual  practice,  as  soon 


TWO   SPECULATIVE   TRAVELLERS.  297 

M  he  had  cleared  the  precincts  of  the  negro  cabin,  ho  siruck  off  into  a 
oy-path  leading  through  the  bushes ;  and  by  so  doing  lost  the  opportun- 
ity of  an  encounter  with  two  individuals,  who,  although  of  a  different 
nationality,  were  as  great  villains  as  himself.  The  brace  of  worthiea 
thus  described  is  already  known.  They  were  the  man-hunters  of  Jacob 
Jessuron,  Manuel  and  Andres — '  cagadores  de  cimmarones'  from  the  island 
of  Cuba  With  the  object  with  which  they  were  journeying  along  the 
Savanna  road,  the  reader  is  equally  au  fait.  Jessuron's  talk  with  them 
an  starting  them  off,  has  plainly  proclaimed  the  vile  intent  of  his  twc 
truculent  tools.  All  day  long  had  these  human  bloodhounds  been  fol- 
iowiug  upon  the  track  of  the  Gustos — now  nearer  to  him — now  farther 
y& — according  to  the  halts  which  the  traveller  had  made, and  the  relative 
speed  of  horseman  and  pedestrian. 

More  than  once  had  they  sighted  their  victim  afar  off  on  the  white 
dusty  road.  But  the  presence  of  the  stout  negro  attendant,  as  well  as 
the  broad  open  daylight,  had  deterred  them  from  proceeding  in  their  ne- 
farious purpose  ;  and  they  had  postponed  its  execution,  till  that  time 
which  gives  opportunity  to  the  assassin — the  going  down  of  the  sun. 

The  hour  had  at  length  arrived;  and  just  as  the  real  murderer  was 
hastening  away  from  the  hut,  the  intended  assassins  were  hurrying  to- 
wards it,  with  all  the  speed  in  their  power ! 

"  Carrambo  /"  exclaimed  he  who  was  the  older,  and  in  consequence  the 
leader  of  the  two,  "  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  Andres,  if  the  ingeniero  was 
to  slip  out  of  our  clutches  to-night  ?  Not  far  beyond  lies  Content,  and 
the  owner  of  that  ingenio  is  a  friend  of  his.  You  remember  Senor  Jacob 
said  he  would  be  like  to  put  up  there  for  the  night  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Andres,  "  the  old  Judio  was  particular  about  that." 

"  Well  1  if  he  gets  there  before  we  can  overhaul  him,  there'll  be  nothing 
done  to-night.  We  must  take  our  chance  on  the  road  between  that  and 
Savanna." 

"  Carajo  /"  responded  Andres,  with  a  somewhat  spiteful  emphasis  ;  "  if 
it  wasn't  for  them  ugly  pistols  he  carries,  and  that  big  buck  nigger  by 
his  side,  we  might  have  stopped  his  breath  before  this.  Supposing  he 
gets  to  Savanna  before  we  can  have  a  talk  with  him  ?  what  then,  compa- 
dre  F 

"  Then,"  answered  he  thus  godfatherly  addressed ;  "  then,  our  lines 
won't  lie  in  pleasant  places.  Savanna's  a  big  city  ;  and  it  isn't  so  easy  to 
murder  a  man  in  the  street  of  a  town  as  among  these  trees.  People 
prowling  about  have  tongues,  where  the  trees  haven't ;  and  fifty  pounds 
Jamaica  money,  ain't  much  for  killing  a  man — more  especially  a  cusios  ;  aa 
they  call  him.  Carajo  !  we  must  take  care,  or  we  may  get  our  necks 
twisted  for  this  simple  trick  !  These  custoses  are  like  our  alcalde* — kill 
one,  and  a  dozen  others  will  spring  up  to  prosecute  you." 

**  But  what,"  inquired  Andres,  who,  although  the  youngest  of  the  two 
appeared  to  be  gifted  with  a  greater  degree  of  prudence  then  his  com- 
panion—" what  if  we  don't  find  a  chance — even  in  Savanna  ?" 

"  Then,"  replied  the  other,  "  we  staid  a  good  chance  of  losing  our  fifty 
pounds — shabby  currency  as  it  if-" 

"  How  that,  Manuel  ?" 


298  ** 

"How  that?  Why  because  the  ingeniero,  once  in  Savanna,  will  taK« 
ship  and  travel  by  sea.  The  '  dueiio'  said  BO.  If  he  do  that,  we  may  bid 
adieu  to  him ;  for  I  wouldn't  make  another  sea-voyage  for  five  times  fifty 
pounds.  That  we  had  from  Batabano  was  enough  to  last  me  for  my  life, 
Carajo !  I  thought  it  was  the  vomito  prieto  that  hud  seized  upon  me.  But 
for  the  fear  of  another  such  puking  spell,  I'd  have  gone  home  with  the 
rest,  instead  of  staying  in  this  nest  of  Jews  and  nigger-drivers  ;  and  how 
I'm  ever  to  get  back  to  Batabano,  let  alone  making  a  voyage  for  the  pur- 
pose of " 

The  Cubano  refrained  from  finishing  his  speech — not  from  a  ay  delicacy 
he  had  about  declaring  the  purpose,  but  because  he  knew  that  the  decla- 
ration would  be  superrogatory  to  an  associate  who  already  comprehend- 
ed it. 

"  In  that  case,"  counselled  the  more  sagacious  Andres,  "  we  must  finish 
our  business  before  Savanna  comes  in  sight.  Perhaps,  compadre,  by  push- 
ing on  rapidly  now,  we  may  overtake  the  party  before  they  get  anchored 
in  Content  ?" 

"You're  right,  hombrej  you're  right  about  that.  Let  us,  as  you  say, 
push  on ;  and,  if  it  suits  you  as  it  does  me,  let  our  motto  be, '  Noche  o 
nunca'  (this  night  or  never)  I" 

"  Vamos  /"  rejoined  Andres  ;  and  the  assassins  increased  their  speed, 
as  if  stimulated  by  the  fear  of  losing  their  prey. 


CHAPTER  0. 

XO  BLOOD. 

THE  sun  had  already  hidden  his  red  disc  under  the  sea  horizon,  when  the 
man-hunters  mounted  the  hill,  and  approached  the  hut  where  Custoi 
Vaughan  had  been  compelled  to  make  halt,  and  in  which  he  was  now  ly- 
ing lifeless. 

"  Mira  Manuel  I"  said  Andres,  as  they  came  within  sight  of  the  hovel 
and  at  the  same  instant  saw  the  horse  standing  tied  to  the  tree ;  "  un  cats 
allo!  saddled,  bridled,  and  with  alfarjas .'" 

"  A  traveller's  horse  !"  rejoined  Manuel,  "  and  that  very  traveller  we've 
been  tracking.  Yes  I  it's  the  horse  of  great  alcalde  of  Mount  Welcome. 
Don't  ycu  remember,  when  we  saw  them  before  us  at  mid-day,  that  one 
of  the  horses  was  a  bay,  and  the  other  a  grey.  There's  the  grey,  and 
it  was  on  that  very  animal  the  Gustos  was  riding." 

"  Quite  true,  compadre;  but  where's  the  other  ?" 

'*  May  be,  among  the  trees  ?  or  tied  round  the  other  side  of  the  hut  ? 
The  riders  must  be  inside  ?" 

"  Both,  do  you  think,  Manuel?" 

11  Of  course,  both ;  though  where  blackskin's  horse  can  be  is  mure 
than  I  can  say.  Carrambo  !  what's  halted  them  here  ?  There's  nobody 
lives  in  the  ranche.  I  know  that ;  I  came  this  way  about  a  week  ago, 
and  it  had  no  tenant  then.  Besides,  the  iiyenio  where  he  was  to  put  up 


NO  BLOOD.  299 

for  the  night  is  just  below.  What  in  the  name  of  Saint  Mary  hus  stop- 
ped them  here?" 

"  Por  Dios,  compadrc  /"  said  the  younger  of  the  two '  cac.adores,'  looking 
significantly  at  the  saddle-bags,  still  hanging  over  the  cantle  of  the  Gustos' 
saddle.  "  There  ought  to  be  something  valuable  in  those  alforjat  tn 

"  Caval!  you're  right;  but  we  musn't  think  of  that  just  yet,  camarado ! 

After  the  other's  done,  then,  we  shall  have  the  opportunity I 

wonder  whether  they're  both  inside  ?  It's  very  odd  we  don't  see  the 
negro's  horse  ?" 

"Hal"  rejoined  Andres,  apparently  struck  with  an  idea.  "  What  ii 
he's  gone  on  to  the  plantation  for  some  purpose  ?  Suppose  an  accideiJ 
has  happened  to  the  Gustos'  steed,  or,  carrai  I  suppose  he's  himself 
taken  sick  ?  You  remember  the  man  we  met,  who  told  us  about  them 
ugly  pistols — he  said  that  one  of  the  travellers — the  white  man — looked 
sick.  Didn't  the  tellow  say  he  saw  him  puking  ?" 

"  Por  Dios  !  he  did.  As  you  say,  there  may  be  something  in  it.  If 
blackskiu's  out  of  the  way,  now's  our  time  ;  for  there  is  more  to  be 
feared  from  that  big  buck  nigger  than  his  master,  when  it  conies  to  a 
struggle.  If  it  should  prove  that  the  Gustos  is  sick — I  hope  it  is  so — he 
won't  be  in  a  condition  to  make  much  use  of  his  weapons  ;  and  carrambo! 
we  must  get  hold  of  them,  before  he  knows  what  we're  after !" 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  round  first  ?"  counselled  the  sagacious  Andres. 
*  Let  us  explore  the  back  of  the  hut,  and  see  whether  the  horse  is  there  t 
If  he's  not,  then  certainly  the  negro's  gone  off  on  some  errand  ?  We  can 
steal  through  the,  bushes  to  the  other  side,  and  get  right  up  to  the  walli 
without  any  danger  of  being  seen  ?" 

"  That's  our  plan,  camarado.  Let's  lose  no  time,  then,  for,  if  it  be  so 
that  blackskin's  abroad,  we're  in  luck.  We  mayn't  find  such  another 
chance — not  between  here  and  the  world's  end.  Follow  me,  hombre!  and 
•et  down  yonr  feet  as  if  you  were  stepping  upon  eggs  with  young  birds 
in  them.  Vamos. " 

So  saying,  the  chief  of  the  two '  ca9adores'  skulked  in  among  the  trees, 
closely  followed  by  his  companion. 

After  making  a  circuit  through  the  underwood,  the  assassins  stole 
silently  in  towards  the  back  of  the  hovel. 

They  saw  no  other  horse — only  the  grey,  which  stood  tieJ  to  the  tree 
in  front.  The  bay  was  gone,  and  in  all  probability  his  rider.  Andrea 
already  congratulated  himself  upon  his  conjecture  being  correct :  the 
negro  had  ridden  off  upon  some  errand.  This  was  put  beyond  all  doubl 
by  their  perceiving  the  fresh  tracks  of  a  horse, leading  away  from  the  but 
along  the  road  towards  Content.  The  hoof-prints  were  so  plain  as  to 
be  visible  at  some  distance.  The  turf  on  the  road-edge  was  torn  up,  and 
deeply  indented — where  the  negro  groom  had  urged  his  horse  into  a 
gallop.  The  assassins  saw,  even  without  returning  to  the  road  ;  and 
were  now  satisfied  that  the  attendant  was  gone  away.  It  only  remained 
to  make  sure  that  the  traveller  himself  was  inside  the  hut.  Creeping 
cautiously  up  to  the  wall,  the  '  casadores'  peeped  through  the  unclayed 
chinks  of  the  cabin.  At  first  the  darkness  inside  hindered  then)  from 
distinguishing  any  object  in  particular.  Presently,  as  their  eyes  grew 
lac-re  accustomed  to  the  obscurity,  they  succeeded  in  making  out  tk« 


SCO  iro 

bamboo  bedstead  in  the  corner,  with  something  that  resembled  th«  figur« 
of  a  man  stretched  lengthwise  upon  it.  A  dark  cloak  covered  the  form, 
tiie  face  aa  well  ;  but  the  feet,  booted  and  spurred,  protrmding  from  ucder 
the  cover,  told  that  it  was  a  man  who  waa  lying  in  that  outstretched  at- 
titude— the  man  who  was  to  be  murdered  1 

He  appeared  to  be  Bound  asleep  ;  there  was  no  motion  perceptible — noi 
even  as  much  as  would  indicate  that  he  breathed  1 

Lying  on  the  floor,  at  some  distance  from  the  couch,  was  a  hat,  and 
beside  it  a  pair  of  pistols,  in  their  holsters — as  if  the  traveller  had  un 
luckled  them  from  his  belt,  and  flung  them  down,  before  going  to  sleep. 
Even  if  awake,  he  could  scarce  get  hold  of  the  pistols,  before  hia  assail- 
aiiis  could  spring  upon  him. 

The  assassins  looked  towards  one  another  with  a  significant  glance. 
The  fates  appeared  to  favour  their  attempt ;  and,  as  both  on  the  instant 
were  actuated  by  the  same  sanguinary  instinct,  they  leaped  simultaneous- 
ly to  their  feet,  drew  their  sharp  machetes,  and  rushed  together  through 
the  doorway. 

"  Maleto  !  maleto  /"  (kill  him  1)  cried  both,  in  the  same  voice,  each  with 
a  view  of  encouraging  the  other ;  and,  as  they  uttered  the  cruel  cry,  they 
buried  their  blades  in  the  body  of  the  unresisting  traveller — stabbing  it 
repeatedly  through  the  cloak. 

Convinced  that  they  liad  finished  their  bloody  work,  the  murderers 
were  about  to  rush  out  again — probably  with  an  eye  to  the  saddle-bags 
outside,  when  it  occurred  to  them  as  strange  that  the  victim  of  their 
hired  villany  should  have  kept  so  quiet.  In  their  frenzied  excitement — 
while  dealing  what  they  supposed  to  be  his  death-blows — they  had  not 
stopped  to  notice  anything  odd  in  the  behavour  of  the  man  whom  they 
were  murdering.  Now  that  the  deed  was  done,  and  they  could  reflect 
more  coolly,  a  sudden  surprise  seized  upon  them — springing  from  the 
circumstance  that  the  wretched  man  had  made  not  the  slightest 
motion — had  neither  stirred  nor  cried  out  1  Perhaps  the  first  stab  had 
gone  right  through  his  heart;  for  it  was  so  intended  by  Andres,  who 
had  given  it?  But  even  that  does  not  produce  instantaneously  death,  and 
the  man-hunters  knew  it.  Besides,  on  the  blade  of  Andre's  machete,  as 
well  as  that  of  his  comrade,  there  was  no  Hood. 

It  was  very  strange.  Could  the  cloak  or  under  garment  have  wiped  it 
off?  Partially  they  might,  but  not  altogether?  Their  blades  were  wet, 
but  not  with  blood— of  that  they  showed  scarce  a  stain ! 

"  It's  a  queer  thing,  comrade,"  exclaimed  Manuel.  "  I  could  almost 
fancy ,  Vaya.  Lift  the  cloak,  and  let's  have  a  look  at  him." 

The  other,  stepping  close  to  the  couch,  stooped  forward,  and  raised 
the  fold  of  the  camlet  from  the  face  of  the  murdered  man. 

As  he  did  so,  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  cold  skin,  while  hi* 
glance  fell  upon  the  stiffened  features  of  a  corpse— upon  eyes  whose  dull, 
blank  film  showed  that  the  light  had  long  since  forsaken  them ! 

The  assassin  stayed  not  for  a  second  look.  With  a  cry  of  terror  he  let 
go  the  garment ;  and  rushed  towards  the  door,  followed  by  his  equally- 
terrified  companion. 

In  another  moment  both  would  have  escaped  outside ;  and  perhaps 
have  taken  the  back  track,  without  thinking  any  more  about  the  aaddlo- 


THE  CAPTURE   OF  THE   CA£ADORE8.  301 

hags  ;  but  just  as  Andres  had  set  foot  upon  the  door-sill,  h*  saw  bofore 
him  something  that  caused  him  to  pull  up,  and  with  a  precipitancy  tbat 
brought  his  comrade  with  a  violent  concussion  against  his  back. 

The  something  which  had  led  to  this  sudden  interruption  was  the  pro- 
§ence  of  three  men,  standing  in  a  triangular  row  scarce  five  paces  from 
the  door.  Each  was  holding  a  gun,  in  such  position,  that,  its  daikhollovr 
tube  was  visible  to  the  eyes  of  the  assassin — pointing  directly  \\i-n 
himself. 

The  three  men,  were  of  three  distinct  colours — white,  yellow,  aud 
black;  all  three  known  to  the  man-hunter  and  his  companion.  They 
were  Herbert  Vaughan,  Gubina,  captain  of  Maroons,  and  Quaco,  hi* 
lieutenant. 


CHAPTER  CI. 

THX  CAFTUBB  OF   THE  Ci^ADORML 

Trat  black,  though  presumedly  the  lowest  in  rank,  was  the  first  to  break 
speech. 

"No,  ye  don't!"  cried  he,  moving  his  musket  up  and  down,  while  still 
keeping  it  levelled  upon  the  foremost  of  the  '  cac.adores.'  "  No,  Mister 
Jack  Spaniard,  not  a  foot  d'  you  set  outside  that  door  till  wo  see  what 
you've  been  a-doin'  'ithin  there.  Steady,  now,  or  thar's  an  ounce  of  lead 
into  yer  garlicky  inside  !  Steady !" 

"  Surrender !"  commanded  Cubina,  in  a  firm,  authoritative  voice,  and 
with  a  threatening  gesture,  which,  though  less  demonstrative  than  that  of 
his  lieutenant,  was  equally  indicative  of  determination.  "  Drop  your 
machetes,  and  yield  at  once  1  Resistance  will  only  cost  you  your  lives." 

"  Come,  my  Spanish  worthies,"  said  Herbert.  "  You  know  me  ?  I 
advise  you  to  do  as  you're  bid.  If  there's  nothing  against  you  I  promise 

you  no  harm Hal  ware  heels!"  he  continued  in  sharp  haste,  observing 

that  the  Spaniards  were  looking  over  their  shoulders,  as  if  intending  to 
escape  by  the  back  of  the  hut.  "  Don't  attempt  to  run  away.  You'll  be 
caught,  no  matter  how  fast  you  go.  I've  got  two  barrels  here  ;  and  each 
is  good  for  a  bird  on  the  wing.  Show  your  backs,  and  they'll  b<* 
preciously  peppered,  I  promise  you." 

"Carajo!"  hissed  out  the  oldest  of  the  '  cac.adores.'  "  What  do  you 
want  with  us  ?" 

"  Ay  I"  added  the  other,  in  a  tone  of  innocent  reproach  ;  '"what  have 
we  been  doing  to  make  all  this  fanfaron  about  ?" 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?"  rejoined  the  Maroon  captain :  "  that's 
just  what  we  desire  to  know,  and  are  determined  upon  knowing." 

u  There's  nothing  to  be  known,"  answered  the  man,  speaking  with  an 
•ir  of  assumed  simplicity  ;  "  at  the  least,  nothing  that's  very  particular. 
We  were  on  our  way  to  Savanna — me  and  my  comrade  here " 

"  Stach  yer  palaver !"  cried  Quaco,  becoming  impatient,  and  pushing 
the  muzzle  of  his  musket  within  an  inch  of  the  Spaniard's  ribs.  "  Did 
ye  hea?  the  cappen  tell  ye  to  drop  yer  toaatin'-forks  and  surrenr  J 
J)own  with  'em  tola  mi&nit,  I  Bay,  an'  do  yer  jaw-wan-gpu' 


302  THE  CAPTURE   OP   THE   CAOADOREfl. 

Thus  threatened,  a  bullet  between  them,  Andres  sulkily  lot  fall  hi* 
machete  upon  the  floor — an  action  that  Was  instantly  imitated  by  hia 
senior  and  superior. 

"  Now,  my  braves  !"  proceeded  the  black  lieutenant,  still  holding  hi« 
huge  gun  to  the  Spaniard's  breast ;  "  lest  ye  mout  be  wantin'  to  gie  ua 
leg-bail,  you  muss  submit  to  be  trussed  a  trifle.  Down  upon  yer  behind* 
both  o'  ye ;  and  keep  that  way  till  I  get  the  cords  and  skewers  ready." 

The  '  ca^adores'  perfectly  understood  the  order  ;  and,  perceiving  that 
there  was  no  chance  for  disobedience,  squatted  down  upon  the  floor— 
each  on  the  spot  where  he  had  been  standing.  Quaco  now  picked  up  tht 
two  machetes,  placing  them  beyond  the  reach  of  their  ci-devant  owners. 
Then,  handing  his  great  gun  over  to  the  care  of  Cubina — who  with  Her- 
bert was  left  to  guard  the  prisoners — he  walked  off  to  a  short  distance 
among  the  trees.  Presently  he  returned,  trailing  after  him  a  long  creep- 
ing plant  that  resembled  a  piece  of  cord,  and  carrying  a  few  short  sticks, 
each  about  three  feet  in  length.  All  this  was  accomplished  with  as  much 
celerity,  and  in  as  brief  a  space  of  time,  as  if  he  had  simply  taken  the 
articles  from  an  adjacent  store-room.  Meanwhile,  Cubina  and  Herbert 
had  kept  their  guns  still  pointed  upon  the  two  *  ca£adores  :'  for  it  was 
most  evident  that  the  villains  were  most  eager  to  get  off;  arid  as  it  was 
now  nearly  night,  had  the  least  chance  been  allowed  them,  they  might 
have  succeeded  in  escaping  through  the  darkness. 

Their  captors  were  determined  they  should  have  no  chance :  for  al- 
though neither  Herbert  nor  Cubina  could  see  into  the  obscure  interior  of 
the  cabin,  and  were  as  yet  ignorant  of  the  fearful  spectacle  that  there 
awaited  them,  they  had  reason  to  suspect  that  the  Spaniards  had  either 
intended  some  dark  deed,  or  had  already  committed  it.  They  had  learnt 
something  along  the  road  of  the  progress  of  the  *  ca9adores,'  and  their 
mode  of  journeying,  which,  to  more  than  one  whom  they  met,  had  appear- 
ed mysterious. 

The  horse  standing  tied  to  the  tree — caparisoned  as  he  was  for  travel 
— that  was  the  most  suspicious  circumstance  of  all.  Though  none  of  the 
three  pursuers  recognised  tke  animal  as  belonging  to  Gustos  Vaughari,  as 
goon  as  they  had  set  eyes  upon  it,  they  had  felt  a  presentiment  that  they 
aad  arrived  too  late. 

The  wild  haste  with  which  the  Spaniards  were  rushing  from  the  cabin 
when  intercepted  at  the  door,  almost  confirmed  their  unpleasant  forebod 
ing  ;  and  before  any  of  the  three  had  entered  the  hut,  they  were  naif 
prepared  to  find  that  it  contained  a  corpse — perhaps  more  than  ono,  fcr 
the  disappearance  of  Pluto  was  not  yet  explained. 

Quaco,  habile  in  handling  cordage  of  all  kinds,  more  especially  the  many 
sorts  of  supple  'Withes  with  which  the  tree  of  a  Jamaica  forest  are  laced 
together,  soon  tied  the  two  Spaniards  wrist  to  wrist,  and  ankle  to  ankle, 
as  tightly  as  could  have  been  done  by  the  most  accomplished  gaoler.  A 
lung  practise  in  binding  runaway  blacks  had  made  Quaco  an  expert  in 
that  department,  which,  indeed,  constitutes  part  of  the  professional  train- 
ing  of  a  Maroon. 

The  captors  had  already  entered  within  the  cabin,  now  dark  as  death 
itself.  For  some  moments  they  stood  upon  the  Hour,  their  eyes  endeav- 
ouring to  read  the  gloom  around  them.  Silent  tiiey  stood — so  still  that 
could  hear  their  own  breathing  with  that  of  the  two 


A   DOUBLE   MURDER.  303 

upon  the  floor.  At  length,  in  the  corner,  they  could  dimly  oaake  out 
aome  thing  like  the  form  of  a  man  lying  stretched  upon  a  low  bedstead. 

Quaco,  though  not  without  some  trepidation,  approached  it.  Stooping 
down,  he  applied  his  hand  to  it  with  cautious  touch. 

"  A  man  1"  muttered  he  :  "  eyther  asleep  or  dead. 

"  Dead  1"  he  ejaculated  the  instant  after,  as,  hi  groping  about,  his  fingert 
chanced  to  fall  upon  the  chill  forehead — "  dead  and  cold  ?" 

Cubina  and  Herbert  stepping  forward,  and,  stooping  over  the  corpse, 
Aerified  the  assertion  of  QuacoT 

Whose  body  was  it  ?  It  might  not  be  that  of  Loftus  Y&ughan  ?  It 
might  be  the  black  attendant,  Pluto  ? 

No  1  it  was  not  a  black  man.  It  needed  no  light  to  sho  w  that.  The 
touch  of  the  hair  was  sufficient  to  teh1  that  a  white  man  lay  dead  upon  the 
couch. 

"  Catch  me  one  of  those  cocuyoa!"  said  the  Maroon  captain,  speaking  to 
his  lieutenant. 

Quaco  stepped  outside  the  hut.  Low  down  along  the  verge  of  the 
forest  were  flitting  little  sparks,  that  appeared  to  be  a  galaxy  of  starg 
in  motion.  These  were  the  lampyridcc,  or  smaller  fire-flies.  It  was  not 
with  these  Quaco  had  to  do.  Here  and  there,,  at  longer  intervals,  could 
be  seen  much  larger  sparks,  of  a  golden  green  colour.  It  was  the  great 
winged  beetle — the  coeuyo* — that  emitted  this  lovely  light. 

Doffing  his  old  hat-crown,  Quaco  used  it  as  an  insect-net ;  and  after  a 
few  strokes  succeeded  in  capturing  a  coeuyo. 

With  this  he  returned  into  the  hut,  and  crossing  over,  held  it  near  the 
head  of  the  corpse.  He  did  not  content  himself  with  the  gold  green  light 
which  the  insect  emits  from  the  two  eyelike  tubercles,  on  its  thorax.  The 
forest-craft  of  Quaco  enabled  him  to  produce  a  brighter  and  better. 
Holding  open  the  elytra  with  his  fingers,  and  bending  back  the  abdomen 
with  his  thumb,  he  exposed  that  oval  disc  of  orange  light — only  seen 
when  the  insect  is  on  the  wing.  A  circle  of  a  yard  in  diameter  was 
illuminated  by  the  phosphoric  glow.  In  that  circle  was  the  face  of  a 
dead  man ;  and  sufficiently  bright  was  the  lamp  of  the  coeuyo,  to  enable 
the  spectators  to  identify  the  ghastly  lineaments  as  those  of  the  Gustos 
Vaughan. 


CHAPTER  OH. 

A     DOUBLE     MURDBB. 

NOKB  of  the  three  started  or  felt  surprise.  That  had  been  gradually 
passing :  for  before  thia  their  presentiment  had  become  almost  a  convic- 
tion. 

Quaco  simply  uttered  one  of  those  exclamations  that  proclaim  a  climax; 
Cubina  fo1*  chagrined — disappointed  in  more  ways  than  one ;  while  Her- 
bert gave  way  to  grief — though  less  than  he  tiight  have  done,  had  hi* 
relative  more  deserved  his  sorrow. 

It  was  nq  tural  they  should  inquire  into  the  Gustos'  death.    Now,  firmly 


304  A  DOUBLE  MTTODBB. 

believing  he  had  been  murdered,  and  by  the  '  ca9adores,  they  prcoc«(le4 
to  make  an  examination  of  the  body. 

Mystery  of  mysteries !  a  dozen  stabs  by  some  sharp  instrument,  and 
no  blood  I  Wounds  through  the  breast,  the  abdomen,  the  heart — &il 
clean  cut  punctures,  and  yet  no  gore — no  extravasation  1 

"  Who  gave  the  stabs  ?  you  did  this,  you  wretches  1"  cried  Herbert 
turning  fiercely  upon  the  '  employes,'  of  Jessuron. 

"  Carrambo  /  why  should  we  do  such  a  thing,  master  j*'  innocent!  j  in- 
quired Andres.  "  The  alcalde  was  dead  before  we  came  up." 

*  Spanish  palaver !"  cried  Quaco.    "  Look  at  these  blades  1"  he  contiau  I 
ed,  taking  up  the  two  machetes,  "  they're  wet  now  1     'Ta'nt  blood  azzaot  $ 

ly  ;  but  somethin' .    See  1"  he  exclaimed,  holding  his  cacuyo  over  the 

wounds,  and  presenting  one  of  the  machetes  to  the  light,  "  they  fit  to  these 
holes  like  a  cork  to  a  bottle.  Twere  they  that  made  em',  nothin1  but 
they  an'  you  did  it,  ye  ugly  skinks  1" 

"  By  the  Virgin,  Senor  Quaco  I"  replied  Andres,  "  you  wrong  us.  I'll 
swear  on  the  holy  evangalists,  we  did'nt  kill  the  alcalde — Gustos,  I  mean. 
Carrambo  ;  no.  We  were  as  much  surprised  as  any  of  you,  when  we  came 
in  here,  and  found  him  dead — just  as  he  is  now." 

There  was  an  air  of  sincerity  in  the  declaration  of  the  wreatch  that 
rendered  it  difficult  to  believe  in  his  guilt — that  is,  the  guilt  of  him  and 
his  companion  as  the  real  murderers,  though  their  intention  to  have  been 
so  was  clear  enough  to  Cubina. 

"  Crambo  ;  why  did  you  stab  him  ?"  said  he  tothe  two  prisoners.  "  You 
need  not  deny  that  you  did  that." 

"  Senor  capitan."  answered  the  crafty  Andres,  who  in  all  delicate  ques- 
tions appeared  to  be  spokesman,  "  we  won't  deny  that.  It  is  true — I  con- 
fess it  with  shame — that  we  did  run  our  blades  once  or  twice  through  the 
body." 

"  A  dozen  times,  you  John  Crow !"  corrected  Quaco. 

"  Well,  senor  Quaco,"  continued  the  Spaniard,  "  I  won't  be  particular 
about  the  number.  There  may  have  been  a  thrust  or  two  less,  or  more. 
It  was  all  a  whim  of  my  comrade,  Manuel,  here — a  little  bit  of  a  wager 
between  us." 

"  A  wager  for  what  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  master,  we'd  been  journeying,  as  I've  said  already,  to 
Savanna.  We  saw  the  horse  tied  outside  this  little  ranchio,  and  thought 
we  would  go  in  and  see  who  was  inside.  Carrambo  what  should  we  see 
but  the  body  of  a  dead  man  lying  stretched  out  on  the  bamboos  !  Sant,i9* 
timaScnoros,  we  were  as  much  startled  as  you." 

"  Terribly  surprised,  I  suppose?"  sarcastically  spoke  Cubina. 

"Nearly  out  of  our  senses,  I  assure  you,  senor." 

"  Go  on,  you  wretch  !"  commanded  Herbert  "  Let  us  hear  what  tale 
you  have  to  tell." 

"  Well !"  said  the  '  ca9adore,'  resuming  his  narration, "  after  a  while  we 
cot  a  little  over  our  fright — as  one  naturally  does,  you  know — and  then 
Manuel  says  to  me,  *  Andres  1'  '  What  is  it,  Manuel  ?'  said  I.  *  D'you 
think,'  said  he,  'that  blood  would  ran  out  of  a  dead  body?'  'Certainly 
not,'  said  I ;  '  not  a  drop.'  '  I'll  bet  you  five  pesos  it  will,'  challenged  my 
eawarndo.  '  Done  !'  said  T  ;  and  then  to  settle  the  thing,  we — I  acknowl- 
•dge  it— did  run  our  macho  teg  through  the  body  of  the  Gustos— -of  course, 
do  him  $•  harm  then." 


CHAKBA  ON   THE   BACK   TBAOK.  305 

"  Monsters  I"  exclaimed  Herbert ;  "  it  was  almost  as  bad  as  killing  him, 
What  a  horrid  tale.  Ha ;  you  wretches,  notwithstanding  its  ingenuity! 
it'll  not  save  your  necks  from  a  halter." 

"Oh,  senorito,"  said  Andres,  appealingly,  "  we've  done  nothing  to  de- 
•erve  that.  I  can  assure  you  we  are  Doth  right  sorry  for  what  weVe 
done.  Ain't  you  sorry,  Manuel  ?" 

"  Carrai    that  I  am,"  earnestly  answered  Manuel. 

"  We  both  regretted  it  afterwards,"  continued  Andres, "  and  to  make 
op  for  what  we  had  done,  we  took  the  cloak  and  spread  it  decently  oyer  I 
the  body — in  order  that  the  poor  alcade  should  rest  in  peace." 

"  Liar  1"  cried  Quaco,  throwing  the  light  of  his  cocuyo  upon  the  corpse.  \ 
"  You  did  no  such  thing ;  you  stabbed  him  throuyh  the  cloak.    Look 
there  1" 

And  as  Quaoo  gave  this  indignant  denial,  he  pointed  to  the  cuts  in  the 
cloth  to  prove  the  falsehood  of  the  Spaniard's  statement. 

"  Carrtu-a+4  /'  stammered  out  the  confounded  Andres.  "  Sure  enough 
there's  a  cut  or  two.  Oh,  now  I  recollect :  we  first  covered  him  up.  It 
was  after  we  did  that,  we  then  made  the  bet — didn't  we,  Manuel  ?" 

Manuel's  reply  was  not  heard  :  for  at  that  instant  the  hoof-strokes  of 
horses  were  heard  in  front  of  the  hut ;  and  the  shadowy  forms  of  two 
horsemen  could  be  distinguished  just  outside  the  doorway. 

It  was  the  black  groom  who  had  returned  from  Content,  accompanied 
by  the  overseer  of  the  estate. 

Shortly  after  a  number  of  negroes  appeared  on  foot,  carrying  * 
stretcher. 

Their  purpose  was  to  convey  the  sick  man  to  Content 

Circumstances  had  occurred  to  make  a  change  in  the  character  of  their 
duty. 


CHAPTER   CHI. 

CHAKRA  ON  THM  BACK  TRACK. 

OF  the  three  magistrates  who  condemned  the  Coromantee,  one  had  been 
slumbering  in  his  grave  for  six  months  ;  the  second,  about  that  number 
cf  days  ;  and  the  third — the  great  Gustos  himself — was  now  a  corpse ! 

Of  all  three  had  the  myal-maa  been  the  murderer  ;  though  in  the  casts 
of  the  first  two  there  had  been  no  suspicion  of  foul  play,  or,  at  least, 
not  enough  to  challenge  inquest  or  investigation.  Both  had  died  of 
lingering  diseases,  bearing  a  certain  resemblance  to  each  other ;  and 
though  partaking  very  much  of  the  nature  of  a  wasting  intermittent 
fevor,  yet  exhibiting  symptoms  that  were  new  and  strange — so  strange 
as  to  baffle  the  skill  of  the  Jamaican  disciples  of  Esculapius. 

About  the  death  of  either  one  Chakra  had  not  felt  the  slightest  apprfc 
hension — nor  would  he  even  had  an  investigation  arisen.  In  neithei 
murder  had  his  hand  appeared.  Both  had  been  accomplished  by  the  in- 
risible  agency  of  Obi,  that  at  this  period  held  mysterious  existence  o* 
every  plantation  in  the  island 


306  OHAKRA    ON   THE   BACK   TRACK. 

With  the  assassination  of  the  Gustos,  however,  it  was  different  Cir- 
cumstances had  caused  that  event  to  be  hurried,  and  there  was  danger — « 
as  Chakra  himself  had  admitted — that  the  spell  of  Obi  might  be  mistaken 
for  a  spell  of  poison.  A  death  so  sudden,  and  by  natural  causes  inex- 
plicable would,  undoubtedly,  provoke  speculation,  and  lead  to  the  open- 
ing and  examining  of  the  body. 

Chakra  knew  that  inside  would  be  found  something  stronger  than  even 
the  sap  of  the  Savanna  flower  or  the  branched  calalue;  and  that  in  all 
probability  the  malady  to  which  the  Gustos  had  succumbed  would  be 
pronounced  murder.  With  this  upon  his  mind,  he  was  not  without  ap- 
prehension— his  fears  pointing  to  Cynthia.  Not  that  he  suspected  the 
honesty  of  his  confederate  ;  but  only  that  her  consistency  might  be  too 
weak  to  withstand  the  cross-questioning  of  a  coroner.  Fearing  this,  he 
had  scarce  got  out  of  sight  of  the  Custos's  corpse  before  he  commenced 
contriving  how  Cynthia's  tongue  could  be  tied — in  other  words,  how  the 
mulatta  was  to  be  made  away  with.  Upon  this  design  his  thoughts  were 
for  the  moment  bent.  He  had  less,  if  any,  apprehension  about  his  other 
accomplice  in  the  crime.  He  fancied  that  Jessuron  was  himself  too 
deeply  dyed  to  point  out  the  spots  upon  his  fellow-conspirator  ;  and  this 
rendered  him  confident  of  secrecy  On  the  part  of  the  Jew.  Neither  did 
he  dwell  long  upon  the  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  Cynthia,  and  so 
trivial  a  matter  as  the  silencing  of  her  tongue  soon  became  obliterated  or 
blended  with  another  and  far  more  important  project,  to  the  execution  of 
which  he  was  now  hastening.  On  leaving  the  hut  where  lay  the  dead 
body  of  his  victim,  he  had  taken  to  by-paths  and  bushes.  Only  for  a 
short  time  did  he  keep  to  these.  The  twilight  rapidly  darkening  into 
night  left  the  highway  free  to  him  ;  and,  availing  himself  of  this  privi- 
lege, he  returned  to  it — showing  by  his  hurried  steps,  as  he  regained  the 
road,  that  he  was  glad  to  escape  from  a  circuitous  path.  His  face  once 
more  set  towards  the  Trelawney  hills,  he  walked  in  silence,  and  with  a 
rapidity  scarce  credible— -his  long,  ape-like  legs,  split  trestle  fashion  to 
the  centre  of  his  body,  enabling  him  glide  over  the  ground  almost  as  fast 
9i8  a  mule  could  mince. 

When  any  one  appeared  upon  the  road  before  him, he  adopted  his  cus- 
tomary plan  of  betaking  himself  to  the  bushes  until  they  passed ;  but 
when  travellers  chanced  to  be  going  the  same  way — which  more  than 
DNC^  did  happen — he  avoided  an  encounter  by  making  a  circuit  through 
the  woods,  and  coming  out  far  ahead  of  them. 

The  trouble  thus  taken  to  gain  time,  as  well  as  the  earnest  manner  with 
which  the  myal-man  was  hastening  forward,  proved  that  the  crime  just 
committed  was  not  the  crisis  of  Chakra's  villanies  ;  but  that  some  other 
evil  purpose — to  him  of  equal  or  greater  import — was  yet  before  him  ; 
and  soon  to  be  achieved,  or,  at  least,  attempted. 

Following  back  the  main  route  between  Savannala-Mer  and  the  Bay, 
he  at  length  arrived  at  the  Carrion  Crow  -road,  and,  after  traversing  this 
for  some  distance,  came  within  view  of  the  Jumbe  Rock,  now  glancing 
with  viterous  sheen  in  the  clear  moonlight. 

Almost  as  soon  as  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  well-known  land-mark, 
he  forsook  the  read  ;  and  strtick  a  by-path  that  led  through  Um 

wood*. 


OHAKBA   ON  THE   BACK   TRACK.  307 

This  path,  trending  diagonally  up  the  side  of  the  Jumbe  mountain,  and 
passing  near  the  base  of  the  Rock,  was  the  same  which  Herbert  Vaughan 
and  the  two  Maroons  had  traversed  on  their  way  from  the  Happy  Valley 
on  the  same  morning. 

Chakra,  however,  knew  nothing  of  this ;  nor  aught  either  of  the  design 
or  expedition  of  Cubina  and  his  comrades.  Equally  ignorant  was  he  of 
the  errand  on  which  Jessuron  had  dispatched  his  Cuban  emissaries — by 
way  of  having  his  bow  twice  stringed. 

The  Coromaijtee,  fancying  himself  the  only  player  in  that  game  of  mot- 
dor,  had  no  idea  that  there  were  others  interested  in  it  as  much  as  h«  ; 
and  although  onco  or  twice  during  the  day  he  had  seen  men  moving  sus- 
piciously behind  him  along  the  road,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  who 
they  were — much  less  that  they  had  been  deputed  to  complete  his  own 
job,  should  the  "  spell"  fail  to  prove  sufficiently  potent. 

A  somewhat  long  detour — which  he  had  taken  after  leaving  the  hut — 
had  brought  him  out  on  the  main  road  behind  both  parties  ;  and  thus  had 
he  remained  ignorant  of  their  proximity  —  at  the  same  time  that  he 
had  himself  escaped  the  observation  both  of  the  villains  who  intended  to  as- 
sassinate the  Gustos,  and  the  men  who  were  pressing  forward  to  save 
him. 

Still  continuing  his  rapid  stride,  Chakra  climbed  the  mountain  slope 
with  the  agility  of  one  accustomed  to  the  most  difficult  paths. 

On  arriving  under  the  the  Juinbe  Rock,  he  halted — not  with  any  inten- 
tion of  remaining  there,  but  only  to  consider. 

He  looked  up  towards  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  in  whose  dark  shadow 
he  was  standing  ;  and  then,  raising  his  eyes  still  higher,  he  gazed  for  a 
short  while  upon  the  sky.  His  glance  betrayed  that  interrogative  scrutiny 
characteristic  of  one  who,  not  being  furnished  with  a  watch,  endeavours 
to  ascertain  the  time.  Ghakra  needed  no  watch.  By  day  the  sun  was 
sufficient  to  inform  him  of  the  hour ;  by  night  the  stars,  which  were  old 
and  familiar  acquaintances. 

The  sinking  of  Orion  towards  the  silvered  surface  of  the  sea  told  him 
that  in  two  hours,  or  there-about,  no  stars  would  be  seen. 

"  Kupple  ob  hour !"  muttered  he,  after  making  the  observation ; "  woan 
do — W9ao  do.  By  de  time  I  get  to  de  Duppy  Hole  fo'  de  lamp,  an'  den 
back  to  de  rock  fo'  fix  um — It  woan  do  I  Adam  an'  his  men  bo  better 
part  ob  an  hour  'fore  dey  ked  climb  up  hya ;  an'  den  it  be  daylight. 
Daat  woan  do  nohow.  Muss  be  done  in  de  night,  else  we  git  follered» 
au'  de  Duppy  Hole  no  longer  safe  'treat  fo  Chakra.  Mussent  risk  dat, 
whasornebber  a  do. 

"  Whugh !"  he  continued,  after  reflecting  a  moment,  and  with  a  look 
of  villanous  ohagrin  overspreading  his  countenance  ;  "  'tarn  a  piece  of  cusa 
crooked  luck  fo'  me  no'  be  hya  'bout  two  hour  soona.  Dat  'ud  'a  been 
s'fishint  to  got  'em  all  up  in  time ;  an'  dar  wud  den  a  been  gobs  u'  time  to 
'complish  de  whole  bizness. 

"  Nebba  mind !"  cried  he,  after  a  pause,  and  rousing  himself  from  the 
attitude  of  reflection ;  "  nebba  mind,  ye  ole  Coromantee  fool !  'morra  night 
do  jess  as  well.  Den  dar  be  plenty  ob  time.  'Taint  like  dey  get  do 
dead  corpus  ob  de  Cussus  back  to  de  Buff  afor^  two,  tree  day ;  an'  ef 
4»t  ore  niggar  fotch  de  news,  it  do  psharm.  Ma^rbe  do  good,  in  de  'fusioji 


308       THE  ^GHI,   OF   LOVE    AND   TITE   VIGIL   OP  JEALOTT&Tl 

it  makes  T>otit  de  place.  Xebba  mind.  It  be  all  right  fo'  'm  »rr*  nigkt» 
Tore  die  time  ob  de  mornin',  de  Lilly  Quasheba — de  beau'fut  dauter  ob 
dat  proud  quaderooin — she  sleep  in  de  'brace  o'  ole  Cbakra  de  inyal-man, 
Whugh !" 

"  Two  hour  'fore  day,"  added  he,  after  a  longer  pause,  in  which  he  ap- 
peared to  gloat  over  his  fiendish  expectations  ;  "  two  hour.     I'se  jess  hab 
time  go  down  to  de  Jew  penn,  an*  den  back  to  de  Duppy  Hole  Tore  day-  ( 
light.    Dat  ole  sinner,  he  want  know  what's  a  been  done  ;  au'  a  want  get ' 
de  balance  ob  dat  fifty  poun'.    A  mount  stan'  need  ob  de  money,  now  a'» 
m~gwine  to  hab  a  wife,  an'  take  to  de  keepin'  ob  a  'tablishment.    1U  i 
ha!  ha!" 

And  as  he  gave  utterance  to  the  laugh,  the  prospective  bridegroom  once 
more  put  his  hideous  form  in  motion,  and  followed  the  path  leading  to  the 
Jew's  penn. 


CHAPTER    CIV. 

TH«   VIGIL  OF   LOTS   AND   THE   VIQIL  OF   JEALOUSY. 

TOLA,  true  to  her  tryst,  set  forth  to  meet  her  beloved  Maroon.  The 
hour  of  midnight  was  the  time  that  had  been  appointed ;  but,  in  order  to 
secure  punctuality,  she  took  her  departure  from  Mount  Welcome  long 
before  that  hour — leaving  herself  ample  time  to  reach  the  rendezvous. 

Of  late  these  after-night  expeditions  had  become  known  to  Miss 
Vaughan,  and  their  object  as  well.  To  her  young  mistress  the  Foolah 
maiden  had  confessed  her  penchant  for  Gubina — her  belief  of  its  being 
reciprocated ;  in  short,  had  told  the  whole  story  of  her  love. 

Common  report  spoke  well  of  the  young  Maroon  captain — Tola  warmly  ; 
and  as  everything  contributed  to  proclahu  his  intentions  honourable, 
Miss  Vaughan  made  no  objection  of  his  meetings  with  her  maid. 

There  was  something  in  her  own  sentiments  to  incline  her  to  this  liberal 
line  of  conduct.  The  young  Creole  could  sympathise  with  hearts  that 
truly  loved — all  the  better  that,  by  experience,  her  own  heart  had  learnt 
the  bitterness  of  being  thwarted. 

At  all  times,  therefore — so  far  as  she  was  concerned — the  brown-akin- 
led  sweetheart  of  Cubina  had  free  leave  to  meet  her  lover. 

On  that  particular  night  permission  was  granted  to  the  maid  more 
freely  than  ever,  since,  for  a  certain  reason,  the  mistress  herself  desired 
the  interview  to  take  place. 

The  reason  may  be  guessed  without  difficulty.  On  the  previous  night 
Cubina  had  thrown  out  a  hint,  which  his  sweetheart  had  communicated 
to  her  mistress.  <$ 

She  had  spoken  of  some  news  he  might  have  that  would  interest  th« 
latter ;  and  although  there  was  nothing  definite  in  that,  still  the  hint  had 
led  to  an  indulgence  hi  speculations — vague  as  dreams,  it  is  true,  bin 
tinged  with  a  certain  sweetness. 

Kate  know  something  of  the  romantic  friendship  that  had  been  es 
tablished  between  Herbert  and  Cubina.    Tola  had  long  ago  told  her  of 
HUi  well  as  the  incident  that  had  given  origin  to  it    Perhapa  thai 


VIGIL    OF    LOVK    AND    THE  VIGIL    OF    JEALOUSY.    309 

knowledge  may  explain  the  interest,  almost  amounting  to  anxiety,  she 
now  felt  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  communication  which  the  Maroon 
had  hypothetic-ally  promised  to  make. 

It  was  only  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day — after  her  excursion  to  the 
Jumbe  Rock — that  the  maid  had  imparted  this  piece  of  intelligence  to 
her  mistress  ;  and  the  altered  demeanour  of  the  latter  during  the  rest  of 
the  evening  proved  how  interesting  it  must  have  been  to  her.  Her 
anxiety  was  scarce  of  the  sorrowful  kind,  but  rather  tinged  with  an  air 
of  cheerfulness — as  if  some  secret  instinct  had  infused  into  her  spirits  a 
certain  buoyancy — as  if  on  the  dark  horizon  of  her  future  there  was  still 
lingering,  or  had  suddenly  arisen,  a  faint  ray  of  hope. 

Yola  had  not  told  all  she  knew.  She  said  nothing  of  certain  surmisei 
that  had  escaped  the  lipg  of  Cubina.  With  a  woman's  tact,  she  perceived 
that  these,  being  only  conjectural,  might  excite  false  hopes  in  the  breast 
of  her  young  mistress  :  for  whom  the  girl  felt  a  true  affection.  In  fear 
of  this,  she  kept  back  the  allusion  to  the  marriage  of  Herbert  and  Judith 
and  its  probable  failure,  which  Cubina  had  so  emphatically  illustrated  by 
a  proverb. 

Yola  intended  this  reserve  to  be  only  temporary — only  until  after  her 
next  meeting  with  her  lover — from  which  she  hoped  to  return  with  a 
fuller  power  of  explaining  it. 

Neither  had  she  made  known  to  her  mistress  the  circumstance  of  having 
seen  Cynthia  in  company  with  the  Jew,  and  the  conference  that  had  oc- 
curred between  them,  overheard  by  herself  and  Cubina — much  less  the 
suspicions  to  which  the  latter  had  given  expression. 

Under  the  apprehension  that  a  knowledge  of  these  strange  facts  and 
suspicions  might  trouble  her  young  mistress,  she  had  withheld  them. 

The  young  Creole  had  not  retired  to  rest  when  Yola  took  her  departure 
from  the  house,  nor  yet  for  long  after.  Anxious  to  know  the  result  of 
the  interview  between  her  maid  and  the  Maroon,  she  remained  awake 
within  her  chamber — burning  the  midnight  lamp,  far  into  the  hours  of 
morning. 

*»•*#»** 

Notwithstanding  the  more  than  permission  that  had  been  accorded  to 
her,  the  princess-slave  stole  softly  from  the  house — passing  the  precinct* 
,ef  the  mansion,  and  traversing  the  grounds  outside  with  considerable 
caution.  This  partly  arose  from  the  habit  of  that  half-barbaric  life,  to 
which,  in  her  own  country  and  from  earliest  childhood,  she  had  been  ac- 
uustomed.  But  there  was  also,  perhaps,  some  suspicion  of  present 
danger,  or,  at  all  events,  that  fear  of  interruption  natural  to  one  on  the 
way  to  keep  an  appointment  of  the  kind  towards  which  she  was  now  be- 
taking herself. 

From  whatever  motive  sprung  her  cautious  behaviour,  it  was  not 
Bufficient  to  prevent  her  departure  from  being  observed ;  not  did  it  enable 
her  to  perceive  that  thing  of  woman's  shape  that,  like  an  evil  shadow, 
flitted  after  her  across  the  fieldg,  and  went  following  her  along  the  forest- 
path. 

Whenever  she  turned  it  also  turned,  only  not  preserving  an  erect  bear- 
ing, nor  going  in  the  same  continuous  gait ;  but  every  DOW  anvl  then 
pausing  upon  tho  path,  sometimes  in  --ouched  attitude,  as  if  teaking 


THE   VIGIL   Ofr   LOVE   AND   TIE    VIGIL   OF  JEALOUST. 

concealment  under  the  shadow  of  the  bushes — then  gliding  iapidly  oS» 
ward  to  make  stop  as  before. 

After  having  got  beyond  the  surroundings  of  the  house,  and  some  dis* 
tance  into  the  pimento  forest,  the  Foolah  walked  with  more  freedom — as 
if  no  longer  fearing  interruption.  She  was,  therefore,  less  likely  to  per- 
ceive that  ill-omened  shadow,  that  still  continued  on  her  track — following, 
as  before,  by  a  series  of  progessive  traverses,  and  in  death  like  silence. 

On  reaching  the  glade,  the  young  girl  advanced  towards  the  cciba,  and 
took  her  stand  within  its  shadow — on  a  spot,  in  her  eyes,  "  hallowed 
down  to  earth's  profound,  and  up  to  heaven."  She  merely  glanced 
round  to  satisfy  herself  that  Cubina  was  not  there.  She  scarce  expected 
him  yet.  The  hour,  though  late,  was  earlier  than  the  time  appointed, 
It  had  not  yet  gone  twelve — else  she  would  have  heard  the  plantation 
clock  announcing  it. 

Allowing  her  eyes  to  drop  to  the  ground  at  her  feet,  she  stood  for  some 
minutes  buried  in  a  reverie  of  reflection — a  sweet  reverie,  as  befitted  her 
situation  of  pleasant  expectancy. 

She  was  startled  from  this  abstraction  by  the  behavior  of  a  bird-  ~a 
scarlet  tanager,  that  rose,  fluttering  and  frightened,  out  of  a  small  clump 
of  bushes  about  ten  paces  from  the  ceiba,  and  in  which  it  had  been  repos- 
ing. 

The  bird,  uttering  a  cry  of  alarm,  forsook  the  shelter,  and  flew  off  into 
the  forest. 

Tola  could  see  nothing  that  should  have  caused  the  creature  to  make 
•o  abrupt  a  departure  from  its  roosting-place.  Her  own  presence  could 
scarce  have  been  the  cause :  since  she  had  been  some  minutes  upon  the 
ground,  and  standing  in  tranquil  pose.  Some  of  its  natural  enemies  had 
frayed  the  bird  ?  Perhaps  a  rat,  an  owl,  or  a  serpent  ?  Thus  reasoned 
she ;  and  was  satisfied. 

If,  instead  of  contenting  herself  with  this  conjecture,  she  had  stepped 
ten  paces  forward,  and  looked  into  the  little  copse,  she  would  have  seen 
there  something  very  different  from  any  of  the  three  creatures  her  fancy 
had  conjured  up.  She  would  have  seen  the  form  of  a  woman  crouching 
within  the  shadow,  with  features  set  in  surpressed  rage,  and  eyes  glow-- 
ing indignantly  upon  herself.  Easily,  too,  would  she  have  recognised  tho 
face  as  that  of  her  fellow-slave,  Cynthia ! 

But  she  saw  it  not,  though  Cynthia  saw  her — though  for  hours  did  the 
Jwo  remain  in  this  singular  juxtaposition — one  occupied  with  the  vigil 
v>f  lore,  the  other  absorbed  in  the  vigil  of  jealousy.  For  long  hours  did 
tte  Foolah  maid  wait  for  the  coming  of  her  beloved  Cubina — her  ear 
keenly  bent  to  catch  any  sound  that  might  announce  his  approach;  her 
bosom  every  moment  becoming  more  and  more  a  prey  to  painful  impa- 
tience. Equally  long  stayed  the  spy  in  her  place  of  concealment — equally 
suffering  torture  from  jealous  imaginings.  To  both  it  was  a  relief,  when 
a  footstep  upon  the  path,  and  a  rustling  of  branches  proclaimed  the 
approach  of  some  one  towards  the  spot  It  was  but  a  momentary  relief, 
mocking  the  anticipations  of  both — thwarting  the  joy  of  the  one,  and  the 
vengeful  design  of  the  other.  Instead  of  the  expected  lover,  a  very  dif- 
t'eient  personage  made  his  appearance  ;  and  almost  at  the  same  int>tant 
another,  coming  from  the  opposite  side.  Both,  at  the  same  time,  advanc- 
ed towards  the  middle  of  the  glade ;  and,  without  exchanging  a  word* 


IN   TROUBLE.  311 

Stopped  face  to  fkce  near  the  ceiba,  as  if  they  had  met  by  appointment 
They  were  out  in  the  open-ground,  and  under  the  full  light  of  the  moon. 
Both  were  men,  and  the  faces  of  both  could  be  distinctly  seen.  Tola 
knew  only  one  of  them,  and  the  sight  of  him  hindered  her  from  staying 
to  look  upon  the  other.  She  merely  glanced  at  a  countenance  that  wan 
fearful — though  not  more  fearful  to  her  than  the  one  she  had  already 
recognised,  and  which  had  at  once  determined  her  to  get  away  from  the 
ground. 

Keeping  the  great  trunk  between  herself  and  the  new  comers,  and  re- 
treating silently  under  its  shadow,  she  glided  back  into  the  underwood 
of  the  forest,  and  was  soon  far  from  the  presence  of  the  two  intruders, 
who  had  brought  her  long  and  vain  vigil  to  such  an  unsatisfactory  termi- 
nation. 

Cynthia  could  not  have  followed  her  example,  even  had  she  been  so  in- 
clined. The  two  men  had  stopped  within  six  paces  of  the  spot  in  which 
she  lay  concealed.  On  every  side  of  it  the  ground  was  clear  of  cover, 
with  the  moon  shining  full  upon  it.  A  cat  could  not  have  crept  out  of 
the  copse  without  attracting  the  attention  of  one  or  the  other. 

Cynthia  knew  both  of  the  men — was  the  confederate  of  both— though 
not  without  fearing  them. 

At  first  sight  of  them  she  would  have  discovered  herself,  but  disliked 
to  come  under  the  observation  of  her  rival.  Afterwards,  when  the  two 
had  entered  into  conversation,  she  was  held  in  her  place  by  a  dread  of  a 
different  kind.  She  had  already  overheard  part  of  what  they  were  say- 
ing ;  and  she  feared  they  might  punish  her  for  eavesdropping,  involun- 
tary though  it  was. 

Better  for  Cynthia  had  she  then  declared  herself ;  but  dreaming  not  of 
discovery,  or  the  fearful  fate  that  might  be  involved  in  it,  she  determined 
to  Me  etilJ,  and  listen  the  dark  dialogue  to  its  ending. 


CHAPTER  CV. 

OTNTHIJL      IN      TROUBLE. 

THE  two  men  who  had  thus  interrupted  the  silent  tableau  by  the  cefca 
tree  where  Jacob  Jessuron  and  Chakra,  the  Coromantee. 

Just  at  the  time  that  Chakra  parted  from  the  Jumbe  Rock  to  pay  hi  a 
nocturnal  visit  to  the  Jew  the  latter  was  leaving  his  penn  to  honour  Ui« 
Coromantee  with  a  similar  call. 

As  both  were  travelling  the  same  path,  and  in  adverse  directions,  it 
was  more  then  probable—a  necessity,  in  fact— that  each  should  meet  the 
other  before  reaching  the  end  of  his  journey.  Also,  as  the  glade  where 
stood  the  great  ceitia  was  on  the  same  path,  and  midway  between  the 
Juiafye  Rock  and  the  Jew's  penn,  it  was  natural  this  encounter  should 
take  place  not  far  from  that  noted  trysting  place.  In  effect,  it  occurred 
witfc'in  the  glade :  the  two  men  having  entered  it  almost  at  the  same  in- 
•taut  of  time. 

Jew  had  got  first  into  the  op*n  ground,  and  was  first  seen.    Tu* 


312  CYNTHIA  IN   TROUBLB. 

myaJ-man  wight  have  had  these  advantages  had  he  wished  :  he  had  been 
the  first  to  arrive  on  the  edge  of  the  opening  ;  but  true  to  his  instinct  of 
caution,  he  had  kept  under  cover  until  making  a  reconnoisance,  in  which 
he  saw  and  recognised  his  advancing  vis-a-vis. 

They  met  near  the  middle  of  the  glade,  just  outside  the  shadow  of  the 
great  tree,  stopping  face  to  face  when  within  a  pace  or  two  of  each  otter 
Not  the  slightest  salutation  was  exchanged  between  the  two  men — any 
more  than  if  they  had  been  two  tigers  who  had  just  come  together  in  the 
jungle.  The  secret  compact  between  them  precluded  the  necessity  for 
compliment  or  palaver.  Each  understood  the  other  ;  and  not  a  word  wag 
spoken  to  introduce  the  dialogue  except  that  which  was  pertinent  to  the 
business  between  them. 

"  Well,  good  Shakra !  you  hash  news  for  me  ?"  interrogated  the  Jew, 
taking  the  initiative  in  the  conversation.  "  You  hash  been  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Savanna  ?  Ish  all  right  on  the  road  T" 

"  Whugh  1"  vociferated  the  myal-man,  throwing  out  his  breast  and  jerk* 
ing  up  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of  triumphant  importance.  "  All  right, 
eh  ?  Well,  not  azzackly  on  de  road,  but  by  de  side  ob  daat  same,  dar  lie  a 
corp',  wich  by  dis  time  oughter  be  as  cold  as  de  heart  ob  a  water-millyum, 
an'  'tiff  as — 'tiff  as — as — de  Tceleton  ob  ole  Chakra.  Ha !  ha !  ha  ! " 

And  the  speaker  uttered  a  peal  of  fierce  laughter  at  the  simile  he  had 
eo  much  dfficulty  in  conceiving  ;  but  which,  when  found,  recalled  the 
aweet  triumph  of  his  vengeance. 

"  Blesh  my  soul  1    Then  it  ish  all  over  ?" 

"  Daats  all  ober— Ise  be  boun*." 

"  And  the  shpell  did  it?    There  wash  no  need " 

With  a  start  the  Jew  paused  in  his  speech,  as  if  about  to  say  some- 
thing he  had  not  intended  ;  and  which  had  been  very  near  escaping  him, 

"  There  wash  no  need — no  need — for  you  to  haf  gone  after  ?" 

This  was  evidently  not  the  question  originally  upon  his  tongue. 

**  No  need  1"  repeated  Chakra,  a  little  puzzled  at  the  interrogatory  ; "  no 
need,  so  far  as  dat  war  consarned.  Ob  coos  de  'pell  did  de  work,  as  a 
knowd  it  wud,  an'  jess  as  a  told  you  it  wud.  Twant  fo'  dat  a  went  arter 
*mt  a  puppos  ob  my  own.  Who  tole  ye,  Massr  Jake  iad  I  wor  gone 
arter  ?" 

"  Goot  Shakra,  I  washn't  quite  sure  till  now.  The  wenoh  Cynthr 
thought  ash  how  you  had  followed  the  Cushtos." 

"  Whugh !  dat  'ere  gal  talk  too  much.  She  hab  her  tongue  'topped 
'fore  long.  She  muss  hab  her  tongue  'topp,  else  she  gess  boaf  o'  us  in 
trouble.  Nebba  mind  I  A  make  dat  all  right  too — by-'m-bye.  Now,  Massr 
Jake,  a  want  dat  odder  twenty^Bve  pound.  De  job  am  finish,  an*  de  work 
tm  done.  Now's  de  time  fo'  de  pay." 

"  That  ish  right,  Shakra.  I  hash  the  monish  here  in  red  gold.  There 
it  ieh." 

As  the  Jew  said  this,  he  passed  a  bag  containing  gold  into  the  hand* 
of  Chakra. 

"  Yotill  find  it  ish  all  counted  correet.  Twenty-five  poundsh  ourren 
thy.  Fifty  poundsh  altogether,  ash  agreed  A  deal  of  monish — a  deal 
of  monish,  slielp  mo  I" 

Chakra  made  no  reply,  to  this  significant  insinuation  ;  but,  taking  tht 


CHAKRA   IN   TROUBLE.  313" 

bag  deposited  it  in  the  lining  of  his  skin  karats,  as  he  did  so  giving 
utterance  to  his  favourite  ejaculation,  "  Whugh I"  the  meaning  of  which 
varied  according  to  the  accentuation  given  to  if. 

"And  now,  goot  Chakra !"  continued  the  Jew ;  "  I  hash  more  work  for 
you.  There  ish  another  sphell  wanted,  for  which  you  shall  have  another 
fifty  poundsh ;  but  firsht  tell  me,  hash  you  seen  any  one  to-day  on  you* 
travels  ?" 

"  Seed  any  one,  eh  ?    Well  dat  am  a  quessin,  Massr  Jake.    A  seed  a 
j  [food  wheen  on  my  trabbels  :  more'n  seed  me,  I'se  be  boun'." 
I     "  But  hash  you  seen  any  one  ash  you  know  ?" 

"  Sartin  a  did — de  Cussus  fo'  one,  tho',  by  de  golliee  I  a  hardly  wud  a 
knowd  him,  he  wa'  so  fur  gone — moas  to  de  bone  1  He  am  almos'  as  much 
a  'keleton  as  ole  Chakra  hisself.  Ha  1  ha !  ha  I" 

"  Any  body  elshe  that  you  hash  a  knowledge  of?" 

'*  No— nob'dy — neery  one  as  a  know  any  thin'  bout  'ceppin'  de  Cussua' 
'tendant.  A  seed  odder  men  on  de  road,  but  dey  wur  fur  off,  and  a  keep 
dem  fur  off  as  a  cud.  Oa  1  yes,  der  wa'  one  who  come  near — mose  too 
near — him  I  knowd.  Dat  wa'  one  ob  dem  'ere  Trelawney  Maroon — Quaco 
dey  call  um." 

"  Only  Quaco,  you  shay  ?  You  hash  seen  nothing  of  hish  capt'in,  Cu- 
bina,  nor  of  a  young  white  gentleman  sh  along  with  him  1" 

"  Neider  de  one  nor  de  todder  ob  dem  two  people.  Wha  fo'  you  ask 
dat,  Massr  Jake?" 

"  I  hash  a  good  reason,  Shakra.  Tho  young  fellow  I  speaksh  of  ish 
a  book-keeper  of  mine.  He  hash  left  the  penn  thish  very  morning.  I 
don't  know  for  why  or  whither  he  ish  gone  ;  but  I  hash  a  reason  to  think 
he  ish  in  company  with  Capt'in  Cubina.  May  be  not,  and  may  be  he'll  be 
back  again  ;  but  it  looksh  suspicious.  If  he'sh  gone  for  good,  the  shpeli 
will  be  all  for  nothingsh.  S'help  me,  for  nothingsh !" 

"  Dat's  a  pity !    I'm  sorry  fo'  dat,  Massr  Jake.    A  hope  he  no  gone." 

"  Whether  or  not,  I  mushn't  go  to  shleep  about  it.  There  ish  anothei 
shpell  that  will  be  more  needed  now  ash  ever." 

"  De  Obi  am  ready.    Who  d'  ye  want  um  set  fo'  nex'  ?" 

"  For  this  rashcal  Cubina." 

"  Ah,  dat  ere  in  welkum.    De  god  do  him  bess  to  'pell  him" 

"  He  hash  trouble  for  me.  It  ish  not  like  to  come  so  soon  :  now  ash 
the  Cushtos  ish  out  of  the  way.  But  who  knowsh  how  soon?  And 
better  ash  the  shpeli  should  be  set  at  once.  So,  good  Shakra,  if  you  can 
nianish  to  do  for  Cubina  in  as  short  a  time  ash  you  hash  done  the  Cushtoa. 
there  ish  another  fifty  poundsh  ready  for  you." 

"  A'll  do  ma  bess,  Massr  Jake,  to  earn  you  money.  ATI  do  ma  bess-  <• 
4e  bess  can  do  no  mo'." 

"  That  ish  true,  good  Shakra  1  Don't  you  think  this  wench,  Cynthy, 
can  help  you?" 

"  Not  a  bit  ob  help  from  dat  quar'r — not  worth  a  'traw  for  'pellin'  Cu- 
bina. He  no  let  de  mlatta  come  nigh  o'  'm  fo1  no  considerashun.  He 
Bick  ob  de  sight  o'  her.  Besides,  dat  gal,  she  know  too  much  now.  She 
one  ob  dese  days  fotch  de  white  folk  to  de  Duppy  Hole.  Dat  nebba  do* 
No  furrer  use  now.  She  hab  eerb  her  turn,  an*  mus,  be  got  rid  ob— • 


314  A   FATAL   SNEEZE. 

muss  go  long  wi'  de  odders  —  long  wi'  de  CUSBU&.  Da's  my  way—  de  only 
way  keep  a  woman  tongue-tied,  am  to  top  'um  waggin'  alltogeder. 
Whughl" 

After  uttering  the  implied  threat,  the  monster  stood  silent  a  moment, 
as  if  reflecting  upon  some  mede  by  which  he  could  make  away  with  the 
life  of  the  mulatta. 

"  You  think,  Shakra,  you  ish  likely  to  find  somebody  elshe  to  awitt 


Nebba  lear,  Massr  Jake.  Leab  dat  to  ole  Chakra  —  ole  Chakra  an1  ok 
Obi.  Dey  do  de  bizness  wide  ut  help  from  any  odder." 

"  Fifty  poundsh,  then,  Shakra.  Ach  !  I'd  give  twice  the  monish  —  jf^s 
s'help  me,  ten  times  the  monish  —  if  I  knew  it  wash  all  right  with  young 
Vochan.  Ach  1  where  ish  he"  gone  ?" 

The  expression  of  bitter  chagrin,  almost  anguish,  with  which  the  vil- 
lainous old  Jew,  for  at  least  the  tenth  time  on  that  day,  repeated  this  in- 
terrogative formula,  told  that  of  all  the  matters  upon  his  mind  the 
absence  of  his  book-keeper  was  the  one  uppermost  ,  and  deemed  by  hira 
of  most  importance  . 

Blesh  my  sole  !  if  he  ish  gone  for  good,  I  shall  have  all  thish  trouble 
for  nothing  —  all  the  cr-r  -  inconvenience." 

It  was  the  "  crime"  he  was  about  to  have  said  ;  but  he  changed  the 
word  —  not  from  any  delicacy  in  the  presence  of  Chakra,  but  rather  to 
still  a  shuddering  within  himself,  to  which  the  thought  had  given  rise. 

"  Nebba  mind,  massa  Jake,"  said  his  confederate,  encouragingly  ;  "you 
hab  got  rid  ob  an  enemy  —  same's  maseff.  Dat  am  someting,  anyhow  ; 
an'  a  promise  you  soon  got  shot  ob  one  odder.  A  go  at  once  'bout  dat 
berry  bizness." 

"  Yesh  1  yesh  !  soon,  good  Shakra,  soon  as  you  can  1  I  wont  keep  yoush 
any  longer.  It  ish  near  daylight.  Imusht  go  back  and  get  some  shleep. 
S'help  me  1  I  hash  not  had  a  wink  thish  night.  Ach  !  I  can't  shleep  BO 
long  ash  he'sh  not  found.  I  musht  go  home,  and  see  if  there  is  any  newsh 
of  him." 

So  saying,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  without  "  good  night,"  or  any  other 
parting  salutation,  the  Jew  strode  abstractedly  off,  leaving  Chakra*  wher* 
he  stood. 


CHAPTER    CVI 

A   FATAL    SNEKZ1S. 

*  WHUGH  I"  ejaculated  the  Coromantee,  as  soon  as  his  confederate  wa* 
out  of  hearing ;  "  dar's  someting  heavy  on  de  mind  ob  dat  ere  ole  Jew — 
someting  wuss  dan  de  death  ob  de  cussus  Vagh'n.  Wonder  now  wha' 
em  be  all  'bout  ?  'Bout  dis  yar  book-keeper  a  nows  it  am.  But  wha' 
*bout  him  T  A'll  find  out  'fore  am  many  hour  older.  Daat  all  do.  A'm 
je«8  like  de  Jew  masself — ha'n't  had  ne'er  a  wink  dis  night,  nor  de  bight 
afore  neider ;  nor  doant  expeck  get  de  half  ob  a  wink  morrer  night.  Ha! 


A  FATAL  SNEEZE. 

morrer  night ;  morrer  night.  Dat  will  be  de  night  oh  all  odder.  Morrer 
night,  if  all  tings  go  well,  Chakra  he  no  sleep  him  'lone — he  sleep  no 
more  by  hisseff-  he  hab  for  him  bedfellow  de  beauty  ob  de  island  ob  Ja- 
maica. He  sleep  wid  de  Lilly " 

Ere  the  full  name  of  the  victim  threatened  with  this  horrid  fate  had 
passed  from  his  lips,  the  menace  of  the  myal-man  was  interrupted.  Tht 
interruption  was  caused  by  a  sound  proceeding  from  the  little  clump  of 
bushes  close  to  where  Chakra  stood.  It  sounded  exactly  as  if  some  one 
had  sneezed — for  it  was  that  in  reality.  Cynthia  had  sneezed. 

She  had  not  done  so  intentionally  :  far  from  it.  After  what  she  had 
iieard.it  was  not  likely  she  would  have  uttered  any  sound  to  proclaim 
ker  presence.  At  that  instant  she  would  have  given  all  she  possessed 
In  the  world — all  she  ever  hoped  to  possess,  even  the  love  of  Cubina — 
to  have  been  miles  from  the  spot,  within  the  safe  kitchen  of  Mount 
Welcome — anywhere  but  where  she  then  was. 

Long  before  the  conversation  between  the  Jew  and  Chakra  had  coma 
to  a  close,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  never  to  see  the  myal-man  again — 
never  willingly.  Now  an  encounter  appeared  inevitable  :  he  must  have 
heard  the  sneeze  T 

The  wretched  woman  reasoned  aright — he  had  heard  it. 

A  fierce  "  whugh  I"  was  the  ejaculation  it  called  forth  in  response ; 
and  then  the  myal-man  turning  suddenly  in  the  direction  whence  it  ap- 
peared to  have  proceeded,  stood  for  a  short  time  silent  and  listening. 

"  By  golly !"  said  he,  speaking  aloud  ;  "  dat  'ere  soujn'  berry  like  a 
'neeze  1  Some  ob  dem  'ere  trees  ha'  been  a  takin'  snuff.  A'd  jess  like 
know  wha'  sort  ob  varmint  made  dat  obstropolus  noise.  Itwan't  a  bush 
— dat's  sartin.  Nor  yet  wa'  it  a  bird.  Whatxden  ?  It  wan't  't  all  onlike 
tho  'neeze  ob  a  nigga  wench  ?  But  what  would  a  wench  be  a  doin'  in 
tha?  Dat's  what  puzzles  me.  Lookee  hya!"  added  he,  raising  his 
voice,  and  addressing  himself  to  whoever  or  whatever  might  have  pro- 
duced the  noise  ;  "  les  hear  dat  ag'in,  whosoraebber  you  be  I  Take 
anodder  frince  ob  snuff — louder  dis  time,  BO  I  can  tell  whedder  you  am  a 
man  or  whadder  you  be  a  femmynine." 

He  waited  for  a  while,  to  see  if  his  gpeech  would  elicit  a  response  ; 
but  non&  came.  Within  the  copse  all  remained  silent,  as  if  no  living 
thing  was  sheltered  under  its  sombre  shadows. 

"  You  wan't  'neeze  agin,"  continued  he,  seeing  there  was  no  reply ; 
*  den  by  golly  a  make  you,  if  you  am  what  a  'speck  you  is — somb'dy  hid 
!n  dar  to  lissen.  No  snake  can't  a  'neeze  dat  way,  no'  yet  a  lizzart.  5Tou 
muss  be  eyder  man,  woman,  or  chile ;  an'  ,ef  you  be,  an'  hab  heerd  wha'a 
been  saj,  by  de  great  Accompong  1  you  life  no  be  worth — Ha  1  hal" 

As  he  entered  upon  this  last  paragraph  of  his  apostrophe  he  had  com 
tnenced  moving  towards  the  copse,  which  was  only  six  paces  from  hie 
etarting  point.  Before  the  speech  was  completed  he  had  passed  in 
among  the  bushes  ,  and,  bending  them  over  with  his  long,  ape-like  arms, 
was  scrutinizing  the  ground  underneath. 

The  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  his  perceiving  the  form  of  a 
woman  in  a  crouching  attitude  within  the  shadow. 

In  another  instant  he  had  siezed  the  woman  by  the  shoulder ;  and  with 
a  quick  wrench  jerked  her  into  an  erect  position. 


31(5  OfiATTRA    TRTMMIVG    HIS    LAMJK 

"  Cynthy  I"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  countenance  of  th« 
mulatta. 

•'  Yes,  Chakra  1'  cried  the  woman,  screaming  ere  she  spoke ;  "  it's  me, 
it's  me  I" 

tt  Whugh  I  Wha'  you  do  hya  I  Youb  been  lissenin'.  Wha*  fo*  you 
iissen?" 

"  Oh,  Chaki  A  1    I  did  not  intend  it.    I  came  here * 

"  How  long  you  been  hya  ?    Tell  dat  quick  ?" 
|    "  Oh,  Chakra—I  came " 

'  You  hya  'fore  we  came  in'  de  glade.  Needn't  ax  dat.  You  »to  in  j 
l'it  hya  atterwad.  You  heer  all  been  said  ?  You  muss  hab  heer  it." 

"  01},  Chakra,  I  couldn't  help  it.    I  would  have  gone " 

"  Den  you  nebba  heer  nodder  word  more.  Won't  do  let  you  go  now. 
You  come  hya  ;  you  stay  hya.  You  nebba  go  out  ob  dis  'pot.  Whugh  I" 

And  giving  to  the  monosyllable  an  aspirate  of  fierceness,  that  caused 
it  to  sound  more  like  the  utterance  of  a  wild  beast  than  a  human  being, 
the  monster  threw  out  his  long  dark  arms,  and  rushed  towards  his  in- 
tended victim. 

In  another  instant  his  long  muscular  fingers  were  clutched  round  the 
throat  of  the  mulatta,  clamping  it  with  the  tightness  and  tenacity  of  an 
iron  garotte. 

The  wretched  creature  could  make  no  resistance  against  such  a  formid- 
able  and  ferocious  antagonist.  She  tried  to  speak ;  she  could  not  even 
Bcream. 

"  Chak — r — a,  de — ar  Chak — r — r — a,"  came  forth  in  a  prolonged 
thoracic  utterance,  and  this  was  the  last  articulation  of  her  life. 

After  that  there  was  a  gurgling  in  her  throat — the  death  rattle,  as  the 
fingers  relaxed  their  long-continued  clutch — and  the  body,  with  a  sudden 
Bound,  fell  back  among  the  bushes. 

"  You  lie  da  ?"  said  the  murderer,  on  seeing  that  his  horrid  work  was 
complete.  "  Dar  you  tell  no  tale.  Now  for  de  Duppy  Hole  ;  an*  a  good 
long  sleep  to  'fresh  me  fo'  de  work  ob  de  morrow  night  Whugh  1" 

And  turning  away  from  the  image  of  death  he  had  just  finished  fashion- 
ing, the  fearful  Coromautee  pulled  the  skirts  of  his  skin  mantle  around 
him,  and  strode  out  of  the  glade,  with  as  much  composure  as  if  medita- 
ting upon  some  abstruse  chapter  in  the  ethics  of  Obi. 


CHAPTER  CVII. 

OHAKIIA   TRIMMING    HIS  LAMP. 

O 

DAY  was  dawning  when  the  tiger  Chakra  returned  to  his  lair  in  the  Dup 
py's  Hole.  With  him  night  was  day,  and  the  dawn  of  the  morn  the 
twilight  of  evening.  He  was  hungry  :  having  eaten  only  a  morsel  of 
food  since  starting  out  on  his  awful  errand,  just  twenty-four  hours  ago. 
The  remains  of  a  pepper-pot,  still  unemptied  from  the  iron  skillet  in 
which  it  had  been  cooked,  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  hut.  To  warm  it  up 
would  require  time,  and  the  kindling  of  a  fire.  He  was  too  much  fatigued 
to  be  fastiduous  ;  and  drawing  the  skillet  from  its  corner,  he  scooped  up 
the  stew  aad  ate  it  cold. 


CHAKBA   TK1MMINO   HIS  LAMP.  317 

Finally,  before  retiring  to  rest,  he  introduced  into  his  stomach  some 
thing  calculated  to  warm  the  cold  pepper-pot — the  "  heel  tap"  of  a  bottle 
of  rum,  that  remained  over  from  the  preceding  night ;  and  then,  flinging 
himself  upon  the  bamboo  bedstead,  so  heavily  that  the  frail  reeds  "  scrun- 
ched" under  his  weight,  he  sank  into  a  profound  slumber. 

He  lay  upon  his  hunched  back,  his  face  turned  upward.  A  protube- 
rance on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  of  larger  dimensions  than  that  upon  hi* 
own  person,  served  him  for  a  bolster — a  few  handfuls  of  the  silk  cottut 
laid  loosely  upon  it  constituting  his  pillow. 

With  his  long  arms  extended  loosely  by  his  side — one  of  them  hanging  , 
over  until  the  murderous  fingers  rested  upon  the  floor — and  his  large  \ 
mouth,  widely  agape,  displaying  a  double  serrature  of  pointed  shining 
teeth,  he  looked  more  like  some  slumbering  ogre  than  a  human  being. 

His  sleep  could  not  be  sweet.  It  was  far  from  being  silent.  From  his 
broad,  compressed  nostrils  came  a  sonorous  snoring,  causing  the  cartilage 
to  heave  outward,  accompanied  by  a  gurgling  emission  through  his 
throat  that  resembled  the  breathing  of  a  hippopotamus. 

Thus  slumbered  Chakra  throughout  the  live  long  day,  dreaming  of  many 
crimes  committed,  or,  perhaps,  only  of  that — the  sweetest  crime  of  all— 
which  was  yet  in  abeyance. 

It  was  near  night  when  he  awoke.  The  sun  had  gone  down — at  least 
he  was  no  longer  visible  from  the  bottom  of  the  Duppy's  Hole — though 
some  red  rays,  tinting  the  tops  of  the  trees  upon  the  summit  of  the 
clifL  told  that  the  orb  of  day  was  still  above  the  horizon. 

Extended  on  his  couch,  Chakra  saw  not  this.  His  hut  was  dark,  the 
door  being  shut  close  ;  but  through  the  interstices  of  the  bamboos  he 
could  see  to  some  distance  outside,  and  perceive  that  twilight  was  fast 
deepening  among  the  trees.  The  cry  of  the  bittern,  coming  up  from  the 
lagoon,  the  shriek  of  the  potoo,  heard  through  the  sough  of  the  cataract, 
and  the  hoot  of  the  great-eared  owl — all  three  voices  of  the  night — 
reaching  his  ears,  admonished  him  that  his  hour  of  action  had  arrived. 

Springing  from  his  couch,  and  giving  utterance  to  his  favourite  ejacu- 
lation, he  sat  about  preparing  himself  for  the  adventure  of  the  night. 

His  first  thought  was  about  something  to  eat,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  skillet,  standing  where  he  had  left  it,  near  the  middle  of  the  floor.  It 
•till  contained  a  quantity  of  the  miscellaneous  stew — enough  for  a  meal. 

"  Woan  do  eat  urn  cold,"  he  muttered,  proceeding  to  kindle  a  fire,  "  not 
fb'  de  second  time.  Gib  me  de  ager  chills,  it  wud.  Mus'  fortify  de  belly 
wi'  Bometing  warm — else  a  no  be  fit  do  de  work  dat  am  to  be  done." 

The  kindling  of  the  fire,  warming  up  of  the  pepper-pot,  and  its  subse- 
quent consumption,  were  three  operations  that  did  not  take  Chakra  any 
very  great  amount  of  time.  They  were  all  over  just  as  the  darkness  of 
night  descended  over  the  earth. 

"Now  fo'  get  ready  de  signal,"  soliloquised  he,  moving  about  over  the 
floor  of  his  hut,  and  looking  intr  crannies  and  corners,  as  if  in  search  of 
§ome  object 

"  As  de  good  luck  hab  it,  dar  be  no  moon  to-night — least  ways,  till  after 
midnight.  After  den  dare  be  plenty  ob  dark  fo'  Adam  to  see  de  signal 
and  plenty  fo'  de  odder  bizztiess  at  Moun'  Wel'in'.  Dar'U  be  light  'nui 
'bout  dat  are  'fore  we  tal^ea  leab  o'  de  place.  *  Won't  d^t  be  a  blaze  > 


318  OHAKRA    TRIMMING   HIS  LAMP. 

"  Wna  hab  a  put  dat  ere  tellemgraff  lamp  ?"  said  he,  still  searching 
around  the  hut.  "  Fse  fo'got  all  'bout  wha  it  am,  so  long  since  a  uso  de 
darned  ting.  Muss  be  unex  de  bed.  Ya — hyji  it  am  1" 

As  he  said  this,  he  drew  from  under  the  bamboo  bedstead  a  gourd 
shell,  of  nearly  egg-shape,  but  of  the  dimensions  of  a  large  melon.    It 
had  a  long,  tapering  shank  —  part  of  the  fruit  itself,  where  the  pericaijr 
narrowed  towards  ita  peduncle — and  through  this  a  string  had  been  pass- 
ed, by  which  the  gourd  could  be  suspended  upon  a  peg. 
•      Holding  it  by  the  handle,  he  raised  the  shell  to  the  light  of  his  lard 
f  femp,  already  kindled,  and  stood  for  some  time  silently  inspecting  it. 

The  gourd  was  not  perfect — that  is,  it  was  no  longer  a  mere  empty 
''  shell,  but  a  manufactured  article,  containing  within  a  most  Shigular  ap- 
paratus. On  one  side  appeared  a  hole,  several  inches  in  diameter,  and 
cut  hi  a  shape  nearly  pyramidal,  the  base  being  above  the  thick  end  of 
the  oval,  and  the  apex,  somewhat  blunt,  or  truncated,  extending  towardi 
the  shank. 

Up  to  the  level  of  the  opening  the  shell  was  filled  with  lard,  in  the 
middle  of  which  appeared  a  wick  of  silk  cotton  staple ;  and  behind  this 
were  two  bite  of  broken  looking-glass,  set  slanting  to  each  other. 

The  whole  apparatus  bore  some  resemblance  to  a  reflecting  lamp  ;  and 
that  was  in  reality  the  purpose  for  which  the  rude  contrivance  had  been 
constructed. 

After  a  careful  examination,  its  owner  appeared  to  be  satisfied  that  it 
was  in  good  order ;  and  having  "  trimmed"  it,  by  adding  a  little  fresh 
lard,  and  straightening  up  the  wick,  he  set  the  lamp  aside,  and  proceed- 
ed with  the  preparation  of  some  other  paraphernalia  necessary  for  the 
night's  expedition. 

A  stick,  some  four  feet  in  length,  and  a  piece  of  strong  cord,  were  the 
next  articles  procured ;  and  these  were  also  put  to  one  side, 

To  these  succeeded  a  long-bladed  knife,  and  a  stout  pistol,  with  flint 
lock  which  the  Coromantee  loaded  and  primed  with  great  care.  Both 
were  stuck  behind  a  belt  which  he  had  already  buckled  around  his  ribs, 
under  the  skin  karose. 

"  A  doan  'ticipate,"  said  he,  as  he  armed  himself  with  these  formadable 
weapons,  "  dar  a  gwine  be  much  Heed  fo'  eider  ob  'em.  Dar  aint  nob'by 
down  dar  am  like  show  fight.  Dat  ere  gran*  buckra  ob  late  came  to 
Moun  Welc'm'  de  say  he  be  'fraid  ob  de  shadda  ob  daggar  ;  an'  as  fo  'de 
"•  brack  folks,  de  look  ob  dese  weapon  be  suffishient  fo'  dem.  Ef  dat 
roan  do,  den  a  trow  off  my  mask.  De  sight  ob  ole  Chakra,  dat  dribe  'em 
into  fits.  Dat  send  ebbery  nigga  on  de  plantaehun  into  de  middle  ob 
next  week.  Whugh !" 

Another  weapon  appeared  to  be  wanting,  in  the  shape  of  a  large  black 
bottle,  containing  rum.  With  this  the  Coromantee  soon  supplied  himself, 
drawing  one  out  from  its  secret  hiding-place,  and  holding  it  before  the 
light,  to  make  sure  that  it  was  full. 

"  Dis  bottle,  "  said  he  as  he  thrust  it  into  a  pouch  in  his  kaross,  "  I  hab  kep 
fo'  dis  'pecial  'casion ;  it  am  de  bess  weapon  fo'  my  purpose.  When 
dem  fellas  get  dar  dose  ob  de  rum,  dar'll  be  no  back  out  in  'em  den. 
Golly !"  he  added,  glancing  out,  and  seeing  that  it  was  now  quite  dark, 
"  a  muss  be  gone  fro*  hva.  By  tie  time  ole  Adapis  e^es  4e  teUemgrapb( 


SETTING   THE   SIGNAL.  319 

an'  gets  'sross  dem  'ere  mountains,  it  be  'ate  'nuf  for  do  bizness  to  begin." 
Finishing  with  this  reflection,  the  sable  conjuror  took  up  his   '  tele- 
graphic apparatus,'"  and,  stepping  over  the  threshold,  t  urried  away  from 
the  hut 


CHAPTER    CVIII.  j 

i 

•1TTINO     THE      SIGNAL. 

short  tropic  twilight  had  passed,  and  night  had  descended  upon  the 
island  of  Jamaica.  It  promised  to  be  a  night  of  deepest  darkness.  Th« 
moon  would  not  rise  before  midnight ;  and  even  then  she  might  not  be 
seen,  as  the  canopy  was  covered  with  a  thick  curtain  of  black  cumulous 
clouds,  through  which  neither  star  nor  speck  of  the  blue  sky  was  visible. 

Alike  lay  valleys  and  mountains,  shrouded  in  amorphorus  darkness ; 
and  even  the  Jumbe  Rock — the  highest  and  most  conspicuous  summit 
for  miles  around — was  wrapped  in  complete  obscurity.    Its  vitreous 
flanks  no  longer  sparkled  in  the  light,  since  there  was  none ;  and  its  dark  _ 
mass  was  so  dimly  outlined  against  the  equally  sombre  backgrounoTTUT** 
the  sky,  as  to  be  invisible  from  the  valley  below. 

The  form  of  a  man  groping  his  way  up  the  narrow  ravine  that  de- 
bouched upon  the  summit  of  the  rock,  could  not  have  teen  distinguished 
much  less  the  black  hue  of  his  skin,  the  deformity  that  marked  his  figure 
or  the  hideous  aspect  of  his  countenance.  And  yet  a  man  so  character- 
i»ed  climbed  up  thereabout  half-an-hour  after  the  going  down  of  the  sun. 
It  need  scarce  be  said  that  that  man  was  Chakra,  the  Coromantee.  Who 
else  would  be  seeking  the  Jumbe  Rock  at  that  hour  ?  What  was  his 
errand  up  there?  Let  the  sequal  declare.  On  setting  foot  upon  the 
platform,  he  undid  the  knot  that  fastened  the  skin  mantle  over  his 
shoulders ;  and  then  taking  off  the  garment,  he  spread  it  out  upon  the 
rock.  The  stick  he  had  brought  up  with  him  he  placed  alofg  one  edge, 
and  there  made  it  fast  with  some  pieces  of  string.  When  this  was  ac- 
complished, he  lifted  both  stick  and  cloak  from  the  rock,  and  proceeding 
to  the  palm,  he  laid  the  stick  transversely  across  the  stem,  at  about  the 
height  of  his  own  hand,  and  then  lashed  it  fast  to  the  tree.  The  karoar 
now  hung  down  the  stem,  in  a  spread-position, the  transverse  stick  keep* 
ing  it  extended  to  its  full  width. 

While  arranging  it  thus,  Chakra  evidently  had  an  eye  to  the  direction 
— that  is,  the  plane  represented  by  the  spread  garment  had  one  face  front- 
ing the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome  and  the  cultivated  lowlands  between 
that  and  Montego  Bay,  while  the  reverse  side  was  turned  toward  the 
"  black  grounds"  of  Trelawney — a  tract  of  wild  country  in  which  not  t 
single  estate,  plantation,  or  penn  had  been  established,  and  where  no  such 
thing  as  a  white  settlement  exited.  In  this  solitude,  however,  there 
were  black  colonies  of  a  peculiar  pnd  ;  for  that  wa«  the  favourite  haunt 
of  the  absconded  slave — the  lurking-place  of  the  outlaw — the  retreat  of 
the  runaway. 

There,  even,  might  the  assassin  find  an  asylum,  secure  from  the  pur 


320  BETTING  THB  SIGlfAL. 

suit  of  justice.    There  had  he  found  it :  for  among  those  dark  foreat 
clad  mountains  more  than  one  murderer  made  his  dwelling. 

Robbers  there  were  many — even  existing  in  organised  bands,  and 
holding  the  authorities  of  the  island  at  defiance.  All  these  circumstance! 
were  known  to  Chakra ;  and  some  of  the  robbers,  too,  were  known  to  him 
.*  -some  of  the  fiercest  who  followed  that  free  calling.  It  was  to  coinmunir 
cato  with  one  of  these  bands  that  the  preparations  of  the  xtyai-man  wcrt 
leing  made.  Ghakra  was  preparing  the  signal. 

Satisfied  that  the  skin  cloak  was  extended  in  the  proper  direction,  the  t 
Corpmantee  next  took  up  his  reflector-lamp  ;  and  having  attached  it  \ 
against  that  side  of  the  kaross  facing  towards  the  mountains,  he  took  out  \ 
his  flint,  steel  and  tinder,  and,  after  striking  a  light,  set  the  wick  on  fire 

In  an  instant  the  lamp  burned  brightly,  and  the  light,  reflected  from  the 
bits  of  looking-glass,  might  have  been  seen  from  the  back  country  to  the 
distance  of  many  miles ;  while  at  the  same  time,  it  was  completely  screen- 
ed from  any  eye  looking  from  the  side  of  the  plantations.  The  project- 
ing edges  of  the  calabash  hindered  the  rays  from  passing  to  either  side  ; 
while  the  interposed  disc  of  the  spread  kaross  further  prevented  the 
"  sheen"  that  otherwise  might  have  betrayed  the  presence  of  the  signal. 

It  was  not  meant  for  the  eyes  of  honest  men  in  the  direction  of  Mon- 
tego  Bay,  but  for  those  of  the  robbers  among  the  far  hills  of  Trelawney. 

"  Jess  de  sort  ob  night  fo'  dem  see  it,  muttered  the  myal-man,  as  with 
folded  arms  he  stood  contemplating  the  flght.  "De  sky  brack  as  de 
debbil's  pitch-pot.  Ole  Adam,  he  sure  hab  some  'un  on  de  look-out  De 
sure  see  'im  soon." 

Chakra  never  looked  more  hideous  than  at  that  moment. 

Stripped  of  the  ample  garment,  that  to  some  extent  aided  in  concealing 
his  deformity ;  a  scant  shirt,  of  course  crimson  flannel,  alone  covering  the 
hunch  ;  most  part  of  his  body  naked,  exposing  to  the  strong  light  of  the 
reflector  his  black  currugated  skin ;  the  aspect  of  his  ferocious  features 
compressed  by  the  snake-encircled  turban  upon  his  temples,  the  long- 
bladed  knife  and  pistol  appearing  in  his  waist-belt — all  combined  to  pro- 
dw*  a  fearful  picture,  that  could  not  fail  to  strike  terror  into  whoever 
should  have  the  misfortune  to  behold  it. 

Standing  immovable  under  the  glare  of  the  lamp,  his  mis-shapen  figure 
projected  across  the  surface  of  the  summit  platform,  he  might  easily 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  personification  of  the  fiend — that  African  fiend 
— after  whom  the  rock  had  been  named.  j 

In  this  situation  he  remained,  observing  perfect  silence,  and  with  liii  1 
eyes  eagerly  bent  upon  the  distant  mountains,  dimly  discernable  through 
the  deep  obscurity  of  the  night.    Only  for  a  few  minutes  was  this  sileuc* 
preserved,  and  the  attitude  of  repose  in  which  he  had  placed  himself. 

"  Whugh  1"  he  exclaimed,  dropping  his  arms  out  of  their  fold,  as  if  to 
set  about  some  action.  "  I  know'd  dey  wud  soon  see  urn.  Tonner  go 
de  answer  1" 

As  he  spoke,  a  bright  light  was  seen  suddenly  blazing  up  on  the  top 
of  a  distant  eminence,  which  was  suddenly  extinguished. 

After  a  short  interval  another,  exactly  similar,  appeared  in  the  same 
place,  and  in  a  similar  manner  went  out  again ;  and  then?  when  an 
laterval  had  elapsed,  a  third. 


THE   CBY   OF   THE   SOLITAIBX.  321 

All  threfc  resembled  flashes  produced  by  powder  ignited  in  a  loos* 
heap. 

The  moment  the  third  response  had  been  given  to  his  signal,  the  Coro* 
mantee  stepped  up  to  his  reflector  and  blew  out  the  light. 

"  Bar's  no  use  fo'  you  any  mo',"  said  he,  apostrophising  the  lamp  ;  "  dar 
am  some  danger  keepin'  you  dar.  B'side,  it  am  a  gettin'  cold  up  hya. 
A  want  my  ole  cloak." 

So  saying,  he  took  down  the  reflector,  and  after  it  the  kaross ;  and, 
separating  the  latter  from  the  piece  of  stick,  he  once  more  suspended  the 
garment  around  his  shoulders.  This  done  he  moved  forward  to  the  front 
of  the  platform ;  and  dropping  his  legs  over,  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of 
the  rock. 


CHAPTER  CEL 

THE    CBT    OF    THE    SOLITAIRE. 

FBOM  the  spot  where  he  had  seated  himself,  the  mansion  of  Mount  Wel- 
come was  in  view — that  IP,  it  would  have  been,  had  it  been  day-time,  or 
even  a  moonlight  night  As  it  was,  however,  darkness  veiled  the  whole 
valley  under  its  opaque  shadows ;  and  the  situation  of  the  house  could 
only  have  been  guessed  at  had  it  not  been  for  the  light  streaming  through 
the  jalousied  windows.  These  revealed  its  position  to  the  eyes  of  the 
Coromantee. 

More  than  one  window  showed  light — several  that  were  side  by  side 
giving  out  a  strong  glare.  These  Chakra  knew  to  be  the  side  windows 
of  the  great  hall,  or  drawing-room.  Its  front  windows  could  not  be  seen 
from  the  Jumbe  Rock :  since  they  faced  towards  the  valley  and  not  to  the 
mountain. 

The  myal-man  knew  all  this.  A  forty  years'  residence  on  the  estate  of 
Mount  Welcome  had  rendered  perfectly  accurate  his  knowledge  of  the 
topography  of  the  place. 

So  much  light  shining  out  suggested  the  idea  of  cheerfulness,  as  if 
company  were  entertained  within. 

"  Whugh  I"  ejaculated  Chakra,  as  his  eye  caught  the  lights.  "  Doan 
look  berry  much  like  day  war  grievin'.  Dey  can't  hab  heer'd  o'  dat  'fair 
yet.  P'raps  de  hab  take  de  body  to  de  plantashun  ob  Content  ?  Leetle 
dey  know  down  dar  wha's  been  done.  Leetle  dey  dream  dat  de  proud 
massr  ob  dat  ere  Buff  am  less  at  dis  minnit  a  cold  corpus.  Da's  no  house 
ob  mournin.'  Dar's  feas  in  a  grrine  on  da',  a  be  boun'  ?  Never  mind ! 
nebba  mind  I  Patience,  ole  nigga !  maybe  you  come  in  fo'  share  ob  dem 
wittle  'fore  de  gits  cold  ;  and  maybe  you  hab  share  ob  de  dishes  on  which 
de  wittle  am  saVd  up— de  forks  an'  de  'poons,  an  de  silber  plate  gener« 
umly.  Daat  will  be  a  haul.  Whugh  ! 

"  But  wha  care  I  fo'  de  forks  an'  de  'poons  ?  Nuffin  1  Dar's  but  one 
ting  a  care  fo',  an'  dat  am  more  dan  silber,  more  na  gold,  more  na  Moun1 
We]':'m,  iteelff !  Dat  am  de  Lilly  Quasheba.  Whugh !  A  hab  lub  her 
fo'  raanv  long  year — lub  fc$r  wore'n  ebba ;  vesf  a  lub  her  wf  d§ 


322  THE   CRT   OF   THE   SOLITAIRE. 

'trersgth  ob  my  soul.  Once  a  git  dat  bowfu'  gal  in  dese  arms,  a  no  car* 
for  de  forks  and  de  'poons.  Olo  Adam  be  welc'm  take  all  dem  rubbish. 

"  No,"  continued  he,  after  a  pause,  apparently  relenting  of  his  liber 
alklp ;  "  dat  »o  do,  neider.  A  soon  need  boat"  de  forks  aud  de  'poons 
A'llwant  him  fo'  de  housekeepin'.  A'll  want  do  silbur  an'  de  gold  to  buy 
odder  ting.  Muss  hab  m'  share  'long  wi'de  ress. 

"  Wha  am  do  bess  place  take  my  wife  to  ?"  muttered  the  intended  hus- 
band, continuing  the  same  strain  of  reflections.  "Muss  leab  de  Duppy 
lUole.  Dat  place  no  longer  safe.  Too  near  de  ole  plantashun.  Boun  to 
ibe  a  debbii  ob  a  rumpus  after  she  carried  'way — daat  are  ef  dey  b'lieva 
;  she  am  carried  away.  Nebba  mind.  A  know  how  manage  dat !" 

At  this  moment  the  reflections  of  the  Corornantee  were  interrupted  bj 
a  sound  that  caused  him  to  draw  his  legs  upon  the  rock,  and  assume 
an  attitude  as  if  about  to  spring  to  his  feet. 

At  the  repetition  of  the  sound,  he  started  up,  and  rapidly  re-crossed 
to  the  opposite  side. 

At  the  point  where  the  upward  path  debouched  upon  the  platform,  he 
stopped  to  listen.  For  the  third  time  the  sound  was  repeated. 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  it — at  least,  to  ears  familiar  with  the 
voices  of  a  Jamaica  forest.  It  was  the  common  yet  peculiar  bird — the 
solitaire.  The  only  thing  strange  was  to  hear  it  at  that  hour  of  the 
night.  Ir  was  not  the  time  when  the  soft  and  flute-like  note  of  the  soli- 
taire should  fall  upon  the  ear  of  the  forest  wanderer.  Hearing  it  at  that 
hour  was  'by  no  means  strange  to  Chakra.  It  was  not  that  which  had 
startled  him  from  his  seat,  and  caused  him  to  cross  quickly  to  the  other 
side  of  the  platform.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  because  ho  knew  that 
which  he  had  heard  was  not  the  note  of  the  solitaire,  but  a  counterfeit 
call  from  hie  confederate,  Adam  I 

Chakra's  private  slogan  was  different — more  mournful  and  less  musical. 
It  was  an  imitation  of  that  melancholy  utterance  heard  at  night  from  the 
sedgy  shores  of  the  dark  lagoon — the  cry  of  the  wailing  bittern.  With 
a  small  reed  applied  to  his  lips,  the  Coromanteo  produced  an  exact  im- 
itation of  this  cry,  and  then  remained  silent,  awaiting  the  result.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  ravine  could  be  heard  a  murmur  of  voices,  as  if  several 
men  were  together,  talking  in  guarded  tones.  Following  this  came  a 
sound  of  scratching  against  the  stones,  and  a  rustling  of  branches,  each 
moment  becoming  more  distinct.  Shortly  after,  the  form  of  a  man  em- 
erged out  of  the  shadowy  cleft,  stepping  cautiously  upon  the  platform. 
Another  followed;  and  another,  until  six  in  all  stood  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  the  rock. 

"  Dat  you,  brodder  Adam?"  said  Chakra,  stepping  forward  to  receive 
the  first  who  presented  himself  at  the  head  of  the  sloping  path. 

«  Ya— ya !    Am  it  Chakra  P 

"  Dat  same  ole  nigga." 

"  All  right,  kommarade.  We've  see  yar  signal  as  soon  as  it  war  hoist- 
ed. We  wan't  long  a  comin',  war  we  ?" 

"  Berry  quick.    A  din't  'speck  yo  fo'  half  an  hour  mo'." 

"  Well,  now  we're  hya,  wharfs  the  game  1  I  hope  dar's  a  good  big 
stake  to  play  for !  Our  stock  of  stuff  wants  ^eniplenishin'  berry  badly. 
We  haven't  had  de  chance  of  a  job  f</  more  daii  a  month.  We're  a  moat 
in  want  " 


THE   CRY   OF   THE   SOLITAIRE.  323 

**  Wittles !"  exclaimed  the  myal-man,  laying  a  scornful  emphasis  on  the 
word.  "  Dar's  a  ting  for  ye  do  dis  nidit  dat'll  gib  ye  mo'  dan  wittle — it 
gib  you  wealth — ebbery  one  ob  ye.  Wugh  I" 

"  Good  1"  ejaculated  Adam,  simultaneously  with  a  chorus  of  like  ex- 
clamations ;  "  glad  to  hear  dat  ere  bit  o'  intelligence.  Am  it  dat  ere  littl« 
job  you  speak  me  'bout  last  time  I  see  you?  Dat  it,  ole  humpy  ?" 

"  Dat  same,"  laconically  answered  Chakra,  "  only  wi'  dis  diffurence,1 
added  he  ;  dat  a  call  um  de  big  job  in'tead  of  de  little  uu." 

"  Big  or  little,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  we've  come  ready  to  do  it — you  see 
we  hab  ?" 

The  speaker,  who  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  the  party  who  accom- 
panied him,  pointed  to  the  others  as  he  made  this  remark. 

The  hint  was  scarso  regarded  by  Chakra.  Notwithstanding  the  murky 
gloom  that  enveloped  the  forms  of  Adam  and  his  companions,  the  myal- 
man  could  see  that  they  were  all  armed  and  equipped,  though  in  the  most 
varied  and  uncouth  fashions.  The  weapons  of  no  two  were  alike.  One 
carried  an  old  musket,  red  with  dust;  another,  a  fowling-piece,  in  like 
condition.  Others  were  provided  with  pistols,  and  nearly  all  had  long 
knives,  or  machetes.  Thus  provided,  it  was  scarce  probable  that  the  job 
for  whose  execution  Chakra  had  summoned  them  could  be  one  of  a  pacific 
character. 

Had  a  light  been  thrown  upon  the  group  that  surrounded  Chakra,  it 
would  have  revealed  a  collection  of  faces — each  provided  with  a  set  of 
features  but  little  less  sinister  than  those  of  Chakra  himself.  In  not  one 
of  them  would  have  been  found  a  line  indicative  of  either  peace  or  mercy 
— for  it  was  the  band  of  black  robb«r  Adam,  celebrated  as  the  most  noto- 
rious cut-throats  in  the  island. 

Chakra  expressed  no  surprise  at  seeing  them  armed,  nor  felt  any.  He 
had  expected  it;  and  the  flourish  which  their  leader  had  made  of  this  fact 
was  only  intended  to  make  manifest  that  they  were  ready  for  the  ordinary 
requirements  of  their  vocation. 

Eagerly  willing  were  they  for  the  extremest  action ;  but,  in  order  to 
make  more  certain  of  their  compliance,  Chakra  thought  it  prudent  to  ply 
them  with  a  little  rum. 

"  Ma  friens,"  said  he,  in  an  affectionate  tone,  "  you  hab  had  de  fatigue 
of  a  long  walk  troo  the  darkness  ob  de  night.  A  hab  got  hya  a  leetle 
drop  ob  someting  dat's  berry  good  fo'  keep  de  cold  out  ob  you.  'Pose 
*  o  all  take  a  wet  from  dis  bottle  ?" 

To  this  proposition  there  was  a  general  assent,  expressed  in  varied 
phraseology.  There  was  no  teetotaller  in  that  crowd  of  worthies. 

Chakra  had  not  thought  of  providing  himself  with  either  drinking-cup 
or  calabash  ;  but  the  want  was  scarcely  felt.  The  robbers  each  in  turn 
refreshed  himself  directly  from  the  neck  of  the  bottle,  until  the  rum  ran 
out. 

"  Well,  ole  humpy,"  said  Adam,  drawing  Chakra  aside,  and  speaking  in 
that  familiar  phrase  that  betokened  a  thickness  of  thieves  between 
"I  suppose  the  chance  you  spoke  'bout  hab  come  round  at  las'?" 

"Da's  a  fack,  brodder  Adam.     I  IIM'   oo:ue  now." 

"De  great  buckra  gone  from  lu>i.-:  •  ?" 

"He  gone  from  home,  and  gone  t<>  hor^e.     Ha!  ha  I" 

M  Come,  dat's  a  riddle,     Whut  jou  mean  by  gone  to  borne  f 


324  A   SAD  PBOOESSION.  "J 

"  To  'im  long  horae.     Da's  wha'  I  mean." 

"Ha!"   exclaimed  .Adam  ;  "you  don't  say  the  Cu&bos * 

"  Nebber  mind  'bout  de  Cussus  now,  brodder  Adam.  Dat  jou  know 
all  'bout  atterwards.  It  am  de  Cussus  silber  plate  dat  consarn  you  now  j 
and  dar's  no  time  to  was'e  in  p'laverin'.  By  de  time  we  gets  down  da, 
an'  puts  on  de  masks,  dey'll  be  a  gwine  to  bed.  Better  dey  wa'  gone  to 
bed  ;  but  by  dat  time  you  see,  de  moon  'ud  be  up,  an'  fo'  all  dese  cloudi 
mout  shine  out.  Dat,  as  you  know,  won't  iiebba  do.  We  must  'ticipaU 
de  rising  ob  de  moon." 

"  True  enuf.    All  right  I    I'm  ready,  and  so  are  de  rest.** 
"  Den  foller  me,  all  ob  you.    We  can  plan  de  mode  ob  'tack  as  we  trai> 
bel  'long.    Plenty  ob  time  io'  dat,  when  we  find  out  how  de  land  He  down 
below.    Foller  me  I" 

And  with  this  injunction,  the  Coromantee  commenced  descending  tht 
ravine,  followed  by  Adam  and  his  band  of  burglars. 


CHAPTER  CX. 

A    SAD    PROCE88IOX. 

OH  that  same  evening,  about  half-an-hour  before  sunset,  a  singular  pro- 
cession was  seen  moving  along  the  Carrion  Crow  Road,  in  the  direction 
of  Mount  Welcome.  Its  slow  progress,  with  the  staid  looks  and  ges- 
tures of  those  who  composed  the  procession,  betokened  it  to  be  one  of  a 
melancholy  character. 

A  rude  litter,  carried  upon  the  shoulders  of  four  men,  confirmed  this 
impression ;  more  especially  when  the  eye  rested  upon  a  human  form 
stretched  along  the  litter,  and  which  could  easily  be  identified  as  a  dead 
body,  notwithstanding  the  camlet  cloak  that  covered  it. 

There  were  ten  individuals  forming  this  funeral  "  cortege ;"  thougli  all 
were  not  mourners.  Two  were  on  horseback,  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
rest.  Four  followed  carrying  the  litter;  while  close  behind  these  came 
four  others,  two  and  two — the  foremost  pair  being  lashed  arm  in  arm  to 
one  another — each  also  with  his  hands  tied  behind  his  back,  and  both 
evidently  prisoners.  The  two  that  brought  up  the  rear  appeared  to  be 
guarding  them. 

The  individuals  composing  this  mournful  procession  may  be  easily 
identified. 

The  two  riding  in  advance  were  Herbert  Vaughan  and  the  Maroon 
captain ;  the  horses  they  bestrode  being  the  same  that  had  passed  ovei 
that  road  the  day  before,  carrying  the  Gustos  and  his  negro  attendant 
The  prisoners  were  the  Spanish  ca9adores — their  guards,  Quaco  and  the 
before-mentioned  attendant ;  while  the  four  men  bearing  the  body  were 
slaves  belonging  to  the  plantation  of  Content. 

It  need  scarce  be  added  that  the  corpse,  stretched  stark  and  stiff  upon 
the  litter,  was  all  that  remained  of  the  grand  Gustos  Vaughan. 

Strictly  describing  them,  not  one  of  the  procession  party  could  be 
called  a  n/ourner.  None  of  them  had  any  reason  to  be  greatly  aggrieved 
t^-  the  fafc.  &at  had  befajjeji  ^  gwn.e.r  <?f  Mount  Welcome— G9t 


'    A  SAD   PROCESSION. 

hi*  kviative.  Notwithstanding  this  absence  of  a  cause  for  grief,  Ahe  faces 
of  all — the  prisoners  excepted — wore  a  look  oi  decent  gravity  becoming 
the  occasion. 

Perhaps  the  nephew  would  have  more  keenly  felt  the  situation — for 
now  that  his  uncle  was  no  more,  every  spark  of  hostility  had  become  ex- 
tinguished— perhaps  he  might  even  have  mourned,  but  for  certain  circuit 
stances  that  had  just  come  to  his  knowledge  ;  and  which  had  the  effect 
^not  only  to  counteract  within  his  heart  all  tendency  towards  sorrow,  but 
'almost  to  overpower  it  with  joy. 

It  was  only  with  an  effort,  therefore,  that  he  could  preserve  upon  his 
features  that  expression  of  sadness,  due  to  the  melancholy  position  in 
which  he  was  placed. 

Despite  the  presence  of  death,  his  heart  was  at  that  moment  filled 
with  a  secret  satisfaction — so  sweet  that  he  could  not  deny  himself  ita 
indulgence.  The  source  of  satisfaction  may  be  easily  traced.  It  will  be 
found  in  the  information  communicated  to  him  by  the  Maroon  captain. 
During  their  journey  of  the  preceeding  day,  their  vigil  of  the  night,  and 
still  further  their  long  slow  march  of  that  morning.  Cubina  had  made 
known  to  iiim  many  circumstances  of  which  he  had  been  hitherto  igno- 
rant ;  among  other  items  of  intelligence,  one  the  most  interesting  that 
language  could  have  imparted. 

It  need  scarce  be  said  what  this  was.  It  may  be  guessed  at  by  recall- 
ing the  conversation  between  the  Maroon  and  his  mistress  Tola,  occur- 
ing  at  the  last  tryst  under  the  ceiba — that  part  of  it  which  related  to  the 
Lilly  Quasheba.  Though  Cubina's  knowledge  was  only  second-hand,  it 
was  sufficiently  definite  to  inspire  Herbert  with  hope — something  more 
than  hope  ;  and  hence  that  secret  joy  whose  outward  manifestation  he 
found  it  difficult  to  suppress. 

Every  word  of  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between  the  Maroon 
and  his  mistress — every  word  that  referred  to  her  mistress — Cubina  had 
been  compelled  to  repeat  over  and  over  again ;  till  Herbert  knew  it  as 
well  as  if  he  had  been  present  during  the  dialogue.  No  wonder  he  was 
not  in  a  condition  to  feel  very  profoundly  for  the  sad  fate  that  had  be- 
fallen his  uncle — hitherto  only  known  to  him  as  a  relative  harsh  an  1 
hostile. 

Other  secrets  had  Cubina  disclosed  to  him — among  the  rest,  the  tru« 
character  of  his  patron,  Jessuron — which  Herbert  had  already  begun  to 
suspect,  and  which  was  now  revealed  to  him  in  ah1  its  hideous  wicked- 
ness. The  history  of  the  Foolah  prince — hitherto  unknown  to  Herbert — 
bteides  his  own  experiences  during  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  were 
sufficient  to  confirm  any  suspicion  that  might  point  to  Jacob  Jessuron. 
Though  it  was  plain  that  the  two  prisoners  in  the  custody  of  Quaco  had 
not  actually  assassinated  the  Gustos,  it  was  equally  clear  that  such  had 
been  their  intention,  anticipated  by  a  death  of  another  kind.  This  both 
Cubina  and  iterbert  conjectured  to  have  proceeded  from  the  same  hand  — 
the  hand  of  Herbert's  ci-devant  host. 

The  phrase  is  appropriate.  Long  before  Herbert  had  heard  one  half 
of  Cubina's  disclosures,  he  had  resolved  never  more  voluntarily  to  set 
foot  in  the  Happy  Valley — muck  less  return  to  seek  shelter  under  the 
roof  of  Jessuron. 

If  he  should  hereafter  have  aught  to  do  with  the  Israelite,  it  would  b« 


326  THE    ABDTJOTfOW. 

in  tli£  course  of  justice }  sis  avenger  D?  the  death  of  his  muriered 
tive.  That  Loftus  Vaughan  was  the  victim  of  assassination  neither  he 
nor  the  Maroon  for  a  moment  doubted.  The  conversation  which  the 
latter  had  listened  to  between  Chakra  and  the  Jew — and  which,  unfortu- 
nately, at  the  time  he  had  nDt  clearly  comprehended — was  no  longer 
mysterious ;  only  its  motive  remained  so.  The  deed  itself  had  now  fur- 
nished the  terrible  interpretation. 

Neither  Herbert  nor  Cubina  had  any  idea  of  permitting  the  matter  to 
drop.  An  event  of  such  fearful  significance  called  for  the  fullest  investi- 
gation ;  and  they  were  now  proceeding  with  the  preliminary  step— « 
carrying  the  body  to  Mount  Welcome,  in  order  that  the  authorities  might 
be  called  together,  and  an  inquest  instituted. 

How  different  were  the  feelings  of  Herbert  to  those  he  experienced 
on  his  former  and  first  approach  to  the  mansion  of  his  haughty  relative ! 
He  was  now  the  victim  of  emotions  so  varied  and  mingled  as  to  defy 
description  1 


CHAPTER  CXL 

THE     ABDUCTION. 

To  Chakra,  viewing  them  from  the  summit  of  the  Jumbe  Rock,  the  well- 
lighted  windows  of  Mount  Welcome  had  proclaimed  the  presence  of 
company  within  the  mansion.  In  this,  however,  the  Coromantee  was 
mistaken.  In  the  past  such  an  appearance  might  have  had  that  significa- 
tion, or  up  to  a  very  late  period — that  is,  up  to  the  date  of  the  arrival  of 
the  distinguished  Smythje.  Since  the  latter  had  become  the  guest  of 
Mount  Welcome,  however,  the  illuminations  of  the  mansion  with  chande- 
lier and  candelabra  was  not  only  not  unusual,  but  had  been  the  nightly 
practice. 

This  was  Mr.  Vaughan's  pleasure ;  which,  in  his  absence,  the  house 
steward  hftd  injunctions  to  carry  out  The  grand  hall  was  only  lit  up  as 
nsual,  its  lustrous  floor  glistening  in  the  brilliant  light,  while  the  profu- 
sion of  cut  glass  and  silver  plate  sparkled  upon  the  side-boards,  loudly 
proclaiming  the  opulence  of  the  planter.  There  was  no  strange  company 
present — none  expected — no  one  who  did  not'belong  to  the  family,  except 
Mr.  Srnythje  ;  and  he  could  scarcely  be  considered  a  stranger.  Rather^ 
might  he  be  regarded — for  the  time  at  least — as  the  master  of  the  man-* 
•ion :  since  in  that  charge  had  the  Gustos  left  him. 

The  only  individuals  oceupying  this  splendid  apartment  were  Smythje 
aad  the  young  mistress  of  Mount  Welcome — both  yet  ignorant  of  what 
had  occurred  upon  the  Savannah  Road — that  fearful  event  which  had 
left  Kate  Vaughan  a  fatherless  orphan,  at  the  same  time  depriving  her  of 
the  prctid  title  we  have  just  bestowed  upon  her. 

Tola,  her  attendant,  went  and  came  at  intervals,  and  Thorns  occasion- 
ally presented  himself  in  the  apartmcn',  r*i  obedience  to  a  summons  from 
his  master. 

Notwithstanding  the  absence  of  crm  pariy,  Smythje  was  in  full  evening 
dress — body-coat,  breeches,  silk  st-M- kings,  and  pumps,  with  ailvet 


327 

buckles.  It  was  ms  custom  to  dress,  or  be  dresse<lv  every  evening — a 
custom  so  scrupulously  observed,  that  had  there  been  no  one  in  the  house 
except  the  negro  domestics  of  the  establishment,  Smythje  would  have 
appeared  in  full  fashionable  costume  all  the  same.  With  him  the  exigefr 
cies  of  fashion  were  as  rigorous  as  to  a  holy  friar  would  be  the  ob- 
servances of  his  religion. 

The  gentleman  was  in  high  spirits — merry,  indeed  ;  and,  strange  to 
say,  his  companion  was  less  melancholy  than  of  late.  No  doubt  this  had 
given  him  his  cue  for  mirth. 

Why  she  had  been  enabled  to  escape  from  her  habitual  dejection  wa* 
not  known  to  Smythje  ;  but  he  was  fain  to  attribute  the  improvement  in 
her  spirits  to  the  near  prospect  of  that  pleasant  ceremony  which  in  a  few 
days  must  indubitably  take  place.  In  a  week,  or  a  fortnight  at  most,  Mr. 
V^aughan  might  be  expected  back  ;  and  then  it  was  understood  by  all — 
tacitly  by  the  young  lady  herself — that  the  union  of  Mount  Welcome  and 
Montagu  Castle  should  be  no  longer  delayed. 

Smythje  had  even  begun  to  talk  of  the  wedding  trousseau;  of  the 
honeymoon  tour — which  was  to  extend  to  the  grand  metropolis  ;  and  as 
Kate,  at  his  request,  seated  herself  to  the  harp,  suggesting  a  musical 
conversation,  he  commenced  enlarging  upon  the  theme  of  the  grand 
"  opwa,"  and  its  attractions — so  dear  and  delightful  to  himself. 

This  sort  of  talk,  upon  other  occasions,  had  invariably  the  effect  of 
making  the  listener  more  sad  ;  but,  strange  to  say,  on  that  evening,  it 
produced  no  such  a  disagreeable  consequence.  Kate's  fingers  flitted 
over  the  strings  of  the  instrument,  drawing  music  from  them  that  wa* 
far  from  melancholy. 

In  truth,  the  young  Creole  was  not  listening  to  the  coukur  de  rose  des- 
criptions of  the  "  metwopolis,"  and  its  "  opwa,"  which  Smythje  was  so 
strenuously  endeavouring  to  impart  to  her. 

Though  seated  by  the  harp,  and  striking  mechanically  upon  ite  strings, 
she  was  dwelling  upon  thoughts  of  a  far  different  character — thoughto 
suggested  by  some  further  intelligence  which  Tola  had  communicated  to 
her,  and  which  was  the  true  source  of  that  joy — perhaps  but  a  transi- 
tory gleam — that  overspread  her  countenance. 

Little  did  Kate  Vaughan  suspect  that  the  corpse  of  her  father — lying" 
cold  and  lifeless  upon  a  stretcher,  and  surrounded  by  strange  mourners — 
was  at  that  moment  scarce  five  miles  distant  from  where  she  sat,  and 
slowly  approaching  the  now  masterless  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome  I 

Little  did  she  suspect,  while  making  that  music  for  Smythje,  that  from 
smother  direction,  monsters  in  human  form  were  moving  towards  that 
mansion — their  dark  shadows  projected  across  the  glare  of  the  window- 
lights — now  stationary,  now  flitting  stealthily  onward — at  each  progres- 
sive movement  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  walls  I 

She  saw  not  these  shadowy,  demon-like  men — had  no  suspicion  either 
of  their  approach  or  intent — an  intent  which  comprehended  robbery,  ra. 
pine  of  a  far  more  fearful  kind — murder,  if  need  be. 

Neither  its  mistress,  neither  Smythje,  nor  any  one  else  of  Mount  Wel- 
come, saw  or  suspected  this  mysterious  circum valla tion,  until  the  move- 
ment had  been  successfully  executed. 

Not  a  word  of  warning,  not  a  sign  or  gesture,  was  given  to  the  occu- 
pants of  the  apartment,  until,  with  wild  unearthly  yells,  half-a-do:zen 


328 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


fiend -like  forms — men  of  horrid  aspect— some  with  black  masks—  jtL«n 
with  naked  visage  even  more  hideous  to  beheld — burst  into  the  grand 
hall,  and  commenced  the  work  of  pillage. 

One  of  gigantic  size,  masked  from  crown  to  throat,  and  wrapped  in  an 
ample  covering  of  skin — though  not  sufficient  to  conceal  the  deformity 
of  a  hunched  back — rushed  directly  up  to  where  the  fair  musician  was 
seated  ;  and,  dashing  the  harp  to  one  side,  seized  upon  her  wrist  before 
she  could  disengage  herself  from  her  chair. 

"  Whugh  1"  came  the  ejaculation,  in  loud  aspirate,  from  behind  the 
mask,  "  I'se  got  ye  at  lass,  ma  Lilly  Quasheba — atter  many's  de  yea' ob 
longin*  fo*  hab  ye.  Ef  de  quaderoom,  ya  mudder,  she  'cape  and  'corn 
me,  I'se  take  care  de  dauter  doan'  get  the  same  chance.  You  come  'long 
wi'  me !" 

Ajjtf  as  the  ravisher  pronounced  -these  words,  he  commenced  dragging 
bis  shrieking  victim  across  the  room,  towards  the  stair  entrance. 

Smythje's  half  irresolute  interposition  was  of  no  avail.  With  one 
sweep  of  his  long  flail-like  arm,  he  in  the  skin  cloak  sent  the  exquisite 
sprawling  upon  the  floor. 

The  terrified  cockney  no  longer  thought  of  resistance ;  but  after 
scrambling  awhile  over  the  polished  planks  at  length  succeeded  in  re- 
gaining his  feet.  Then,  without  waiting  to  receive  a  second  knock-down, 
he  shot  out  through  the  open  doorway,  and,  descending  the  stone  stairs, 
in  a  couple  of  skips  disappeared  in  the  darkness  below. 

Meanwhile,  the  alarn*  had  been  communicated  to  the  kitchen,  and  all 
over  the  house.  Shouts  of  surprise  were  succeeded  by  screams  of 
terror.  The  domestics  came  running  in  from  all  directions  ;  but  a  shot 
or  two  from  the  muskets  and  pistols  of  the  black  burglars,  fired  for  the 
purpose  of  increasing  the  confusion,  scattered  the  whole  e^ablishment 
of  servants,  Thorns  among  the  rest,  and  sent  them  in  full  fli^Slt  towards 
the  sugar  works  and  the  negro  village  beyond. 

In  less  than  a  score  of  seconds,  Adam  and  his  confederates  had  the 
mansion  to  themselves. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes  to  fling  open  the  buffets  and 
side-boards,  and  plunder  them  of  their  most  valuable  contents.  In  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  black  burglars  had  finished  their  "job," 
and  were  ready  to  depart. 

While  his  confederates  were  thus  engaged,  Chakra  had  secured  his 
victim  at  the  bottom  of  the  front  stairway,  where  he  was  impatiently 
awaiting  the  completion  of  the  pillage.  Though  determined  upon  having 
his  share  of  the  booty,  he  cared  less  for  that  than  for  the  gratification  of 
that  wicked  desire  that  had  so  long  possessed  his  savage  soul — so  long 
by  circumstances  restrained. 

Notwithstanding  his  eagerness  for  this  demoniac  indulgence,  he  still 
possessed  a  certain  degree  of  prudence.  As  soon  as  Adam  and  his 
associates  made  their  appearance,  loaded  with  spoils,  he  placed  his  pris- 
oner under  the  charge  of  one  of  the  robbers,  and,  commanding  the  others 
to  follow  him,  rapidly  re-ascended  the  stairway,  and  once  more  entered 
the  }  Blundered  apartment. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  harp,  the  chairs,  the  ottomans, 
and  ether  articles  of  light  furniture,  were  piled  up  in  the  middle  of  tb« 
floor.  The  jalousies  were  wrenched  from  their  fasi»ning8,  flung  upon  the 
heap,  and  then  set  on  fire. 


BtTRGLARS,    ROBBERS,    MURDERERS. 


Quick  as  tinder  the  dry  wood  blazed  up  ;  and  in  five  minutes  the  noble 
mansion  of  Mount  Welcome  was  in  flames  ! 

In  five  minutes  more,  under  the  red  glare,  flung  far  out  into  the  distant 
fields,  the  robbers  were  seen,  slowly  and  laboriously  seeking  conceal- 
ment within  the  shadows  beyond — six  of  them  burdened  with  shining 
utensils,  that  gave  back  the  gleams  of  the  blazing  mansion ;  while  the 
•eventh,  the  most  formidable  figure  of  all,  carried  in  his  arms  an  object 
of  a  far  different  kind — the  body  of  a  beautiful  woman — the  fainting 
rorm  of  Lilly  Quasheba  1 


CHAPTER    CXIL 

BURGLARS  1  ROBBERS  1  MURDERERS  1 

Iw  solemn  pace  the  procession  which  accompanied  the  corpse  of  Gustos 
Vaughan  moved  silently  on  along  the  lonely  road.  The  Jumbe  Rock  wa§ 
now  in  sight,  encarmined  by  the  last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun.  Beyond, 
lay  Mount  Welcome — a  house  to  which  that  sad  '  cortege'  was  about  to 
carry  the  cue  for  wailing  and  desolation. 

Ah  I  little  dreamt  they  who  composed  it,  that  the  demon  was  already 
there  before  them — if  not  of  death,  of  a  doom  equally  as  dark. 

Could  Herbert  only  have  known  that  at  that  moment  the  beautiful 
being  he  loved  with  his  whole  heart,  and  now  more  than  ever — she  who 
loved  him,  was  struggling  in  the  arms 

No  matter.  The  terrible  truth  will  reach  him  but  too  soon.  It  will 
meet  him  on  his  way.  In  another  hour  the  sweet  dreams  in  which, 
throughout  that  long  day,  he  has  been  indulging,  will  meet  with  a  dread 
dissipation. 

At  a  turning  of  the  road  there  stood  several  gigantic  trees,  offering  a 
grand  canopy  of  foliage.  Under  these  the  party  halted,  by  the  joint 
command  of  Herbert  and  Cubina,  who  at  the  same  moment  dismounted 
from  their  horses. 

It  was  not  the  shade  that  had  tempted  them  :  for  the  sun  had  now  gone 
down.  Nor  yet  that  the  bearers  might  obtain  rest.  The  men  were 
strong,  and  the  wasted  form  was  far  from  being  a  heavy  burden.  It  wa§ 
not  for  that  reason  that  the  halt  had  been  ordered  ;  but  on  account  of  » 
thought  that  had  suggested  itself  to  Herbert,  and  which  was  approved  c( 
by  Cubina. 

It  was  the  apprehension  of  the  dread  impression  which  their  arrive- 
might  produce  at  Mount  Welcome — of  course,  on  her  whose  father'i 
corpse  they  were  carrying. 

They  had  stopped  to  consider  what  was  1best  to  be  done. 

A  plan  soon  suggested  itself.  A  messenger  could  be  sent  forward  up  ?n 
one  of  the  horses  to  communicate  the  sad  tidings  to  Trusty,  the  overseer, 
and  through  him  the  melancholy  news  might  be  more  gradually  made 
known  to  her  -whom  it  most  concerned. 

Herbert  would  have  gone  himself ;  but  was  hindered  by  certain  delicate 
considerations,  based  on  the  conflicting  emotions  that  were  stirring 
within  him. 


330         BURGLARS  !   ROBBERS  !   MURDERESS  1 

It  mattered  little  who  should  bear  the  melancholy  tidings  to  Tnuity  / 
and  the  negro  attendant  was  finally  chosen. 

The  man  received  his  instructions;  and,  having  mounted  his  own 
horse,  rode  off  at  such  speed  as  the  darkness,  now  down  upon  the  earth, 
would  permit 

For  another  hour  the  party  remained  in  the  place  where  they  had 
halted,  to  give  time  for  the  messenger  to  execute  his  commission.  Then 
oiiee  more  taking  the  road,  they  moved  forward  at  a  slow  pace,  Herbert 
alongside  Cubina — now  a-foot,  and  leading  the  horse  upon  which  he  had 
hitherto  ridden. 

Quaoo  alone  guarded  the  prisoners  ;  a  duty  to  which  the  Maroon  lieu- 
tenant was  quite  equal,  and  which  he  had  rendered  the  more  easy  of  ac- 
complishment, by  pressing  into  his  service  a  piece  of  rope,  attached 
round  the  neck  of  the  one  that  was  nearest,  and  which,  held  halter- 
fashion  in  his  hand,  enabled  him  to  prevent  either  of  them  from  straying 
in  the  darkness.  Neither,  however,  made  any  attempt  to  escape  :  know- 
ing, as  both  did,  that  the  slightest  movement  in  that  direction  would  cost 
them  a  "  thwack"  from  a  stout  cudgel — an  additional  implement  carried 
in  the  hands  of  Quaco. 

In  this  way  the  '  cortege'  had  proceeded  for  some  half-mile  or  so  be- 
yond its  last  resting-place,  when  it  was  again  brought  to  a  halt  by  the 
orders  of  those  in  the  lead. 

The  cause  of  this  interruption  was  d«;kred  to  all  of  the  party  at  once. 
All  heard  the  hoof-strokes  of  a  horse  coming  Fapidly  along  the  road,  and 
from  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  they  were  moving, 

Going  as  he  appeared  to  be,  in  iul\  gallop,  in  five  minutes  more,  or  in 
half  the  time,  the  horseman  shr.uJd  be  in  their  midst. 

Was  he  a  stranger  ?  Or  eovM  it  be  their  own  messenger  coming  back  ? 
He  had  not  been  directed  to  return.  It  was  deemed  sufficient  for  him  to 
see  Mr.  Trusty,  and  make  hnown  the  news  which  he  had  been  intrusted 
to  communicate. 

It  was  not  without  a  /deling  of  surprise,  therefore,  as  the  horseman 
dashed  forward  upon  t*v»  ground,  and  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  procession 
that  Herbert  and  Gu'N&a  recognised  the  returned  attendant. 

He  left  them  m>  time  to  speculate  on  the  mystery  of  his  re-appearance. 
The  white  froth  upon  the  flanks  of  his  steed,  shining  through  the  gloom, 
told  of  fast  riding  ;  while  the  stammering  and  terrified  accents  in  which 
the  man  proclaimed  the  purpose  of  his  return,  rendered  more  startling 
the  news  hs  had  come  to  communicate. 

Mount  Welcome  was,  at  that  moment,  attacked  by  a  band  of  burglars, 
robbers,  and  murderers ! 

There  were  men  in  masks,  and  men  without  them — equally  terrible  to 
look  upon.  They  were  plundering  the  great  hall,  had  murdered  Mr. 
Smythje,  were  ill-treating  the  young  mistress  of  the  mansion,  and  firing 
guns  and  pistols  at  every  one  who  came  in  their  way  1 

The  messenger  had  not  stayed  to  see  Mr.  Trusty.  He  had  learnt  all 
this  from  the  domestics,  who  were  hurrying  in  flight  from  the  mansion. 
Confounded  by  the  shouting  and  shots  he  had  himself  heard,  and  thinking 
that  the  likeliest  chance  of  assistance  would  be  found  in  the  party  he  had 
just  left — and  which  he  believed  to  be  much  naarer — he  had  galloped 
back  along  the  road. 


ROBBERS,    MURDERERS.  33] 

These  were  the  main  facts  of  the  attendant's  story- -not  communicated, 
however,  with  any  regard  to  sequence,  but  in  the  most  incoherent  marine* 
and  liberally  interpersed  with  exclamations  of  alarm. 

It  was  a  fearful  tale,  and  fell  with  a  t«frible  effect  upon  the  ears  of 
those  to  whom  it  was  told — Herbert  and  Cubina. 

Burglars  —  robbers — murderers!  Mr.  Smythje  killed!  The  young 
mistress  of  Mount  Welcome  in  the  act  of  being  abused  I  And  Tola  1 
She,  too 

"  Quaco !"  cried  the  Maroon  captain,  rushing  to  the  rear,  and  address- 
ing himself  to  his  lieutenant,  "  think  you  our  men  can  hear  us  from  hero  1 
Bound  your  horn  on  the  instant :  your  blast  is  stronger  than  mine.  There 
is  trouble  at  Mount  Welcome.  We  may  need  every  man  of  them.  Quick 
— quick  1" 

**  The  devil !"  cried  Quaco,  dropping  his  hold  of  the  halter,  and  raising 
the  horn  to  his  mouth,  "  I'll  make  them  hear,  if  they're  in  the  island  of 
Jamaica.  You  keep  your  ground,  ye  pair  of  John  Crows  1"  he  added,  as 
he  held  the  horn  an  inch  or  two  from  his  lips.  "  If  either  of  you  budge 
a  foot  out  of  your  places,  I'll  send  a  brace  of  bullets  through  your  stinkin* 
carcadges,  and  stop  you  thataway.  See  if  I  don't." 

And  with  this  emphatic  admonition,  the  colossus  applied  the  horn  to 
his  mouth,  and  blew  a  blast  that  might  have  been  heard  for  miles. 

In  echoes  it  rang  from  the  sides  of  the  Jumbe  Rock,  and  from  many  a 
peak  lying  far  beyond.  So  loud  and  shrill  rang  it,  that  one  might  almost 
nave  believed  in  Quaco's  affirmation  :  that  it  would  be  heard  to  the  ex- 
tremities of  the  island  1 

At  all  events,  it  was  heard  by  some  not  so  far  off:  for  scarce  had  its 
echoes  ceased  to  reverberate,  when  a  half  dozen  similar  sounds,  proceed- 
ing from  different  directions,  and  apparently  from  different  distances, 
came  back  in  response. 

Cubina  waited  not  to  hear  their  repetition. 

"  Enough  1"  cried  he,  "  there  are  half-a-dozen  of  them  anyhow.  Thai 
will  no  doubt  be  enough.  You  Quaco,  stay  here  till  they  come  up,  and 
then  follow  to  Mount  Welcome.  Sound  again,  to  direct  them ;  and  see 
that  these  two  murderous  villains  don't  escape  you." 

"  Hadn't  I  better  put  a  brace  of  bullets  through* them  ?"  naively  inquir 
ed  Quaco.  "  It'll  save  trouble  if  I  do  that.  What  say  you,  Cape* 
Cubina  ?" 

"  No,  no !  Quaco.  Justice  will  settle  accounts  with  them.  Bring  them 
on  along  with  you  ;  and  follow  as  soon  as  our  men  get  up  !" 

Before  Quaco  could  offer  any  further  suggestions,  the  Maroon  capatin 
had  mounted  the  messenger's  horse — Herbert  having  already  leaped  into 
the  saddle  of  the  other  -and  both,  without  further  speech,  rode  forward 
M  Cast  as  their  steeds  could  carry  them. 


332 


CHAPTER  CXIIL 

DBCAD      CONJBCTUBli. 

a  profaund  silence,  the  two  young  men  pressed  forwaid. 
Neither  liked  to  put  question  to  the  other.  Each  dreaded  the  answer 
the  other  might  make — each  was  thinking  only  of  the  danger  of  her  who 
was  dearest  to  him. 

They  urged  on  their  steeds  with  equal  eagerness,  for  both  were  alike 
interested  in  the  '  denouement'  of  the  dreadful  drama,  at  that  moment 
being  enacted  at  the  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome. 

Their  reflections  were  similar,  and  similarly  painful. 

They  might  be  too  late  ?  Ere  they  could  arrive  upon  the  scene  th« 
itage  might  be  deserted — the  tragedy  played  out — the  players  gone  1 

It  needed  not  these  thoughts  to  stimulate  them  to  increased  speed : 
they  were  already  riding  as  if  life  or  death  rested  on  the  issue.  *  * 

They  had  neared  the  flank  of  the  Jumbe  mountain,  and  were  heading 
for  the  ridge  that  separated  the  estates  of  Montagu  Castle  and  Mount 
Welcome. 

At  this  point  the  road  debouched  from  the  forest,  and  the  ridge  came 
in  sight.  At  the  same  instant,  a  cry  escaped  from  the  lips  of  Cubina,  as 
with  a  quick  wrench  he  drew  his  horse  to  a  halt 

Herbert  echoed  the  cry  of  his  comrade — at  the  same  time  imitating  hii 
action. 

Neither  thought  of  questioning  the  other.  Both  had  halted  under  the 
same  impulse.  The  evil  omen  had  been  seen  simultaneously  by  both. 

Over  the  summit  of  the  ridge  a  yellow  light  glared,  halo-like,  against 
the  sky. 

"  Fire  1"  exclaimed  Cubina.  "  Just  over  Mount  Welcome  !  Santa  madrt! 
the  mansion  is  in  flames I*' 

"  Oh,  heavens  1"  cried  Herbert ;  "  we  shall  be  too  late !" 

Not  another  word  passed  between  the  two  horsemen.  Stirred  by  th« 
•ame  instinct,  they  renewed  their  gallop  ;  and  silently,  side  by  side, 
ttrged  their  horses  up  the  hill. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  attained  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  wbcno* 
they  could  command  a  full  view  of  the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome. 

The  mansion  was  in  flames  1 

There  was  no  further  utterance  of  surprise  :  that  was  past.  Jt  wa§ 
•carce  a  conjecture  which  Cubina  had  pronounced,  on  seeing  that  glare 
against  the  sky,  but  a  conviction ;  and  the  crackling  sounds  which  had 
assailed  their  ears,  as  they  were  riding  upward  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge, 
had  fully  confirmed  the  event  before  their  eyes  looked  on  the  fire  itself. 

There  was  no  more  a  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome.  In  its  place  a 
blazing  pile — a  broad  sheet  of  flame,  rising  in  gigantic  jeta  to  the  sky, 
crowned  with  huge  sparks  and  murky  smoke,  and  accompanied  by  a  e«m 


DREAD  CONJECTURES.  333 


tinuous  roaring  and  crackling  of  timbers,  as  if  fiends  were  firing 
joie,  in  the  celebration  of  some  terrible  holocaust. 

"  Too  late  —  too  latel"  muttered  both  the  horsemen  in  the  same  breath  ; 
and  then,  with  despair  on  their  faces  and  black  fear  iu  their  hearts,  they 
once  more  gave  rein  to  their  steeds  ;  and,  riding  recklessly  down  the 
tlope,  galloped  on  towards  the  conflagration. 

In  a  few  seconds'  time  they  had  crossed  the  inclosures,  and  halted  Iv 
front  of  the  blazing  pile  ;  as  near  to  it  as  their  frayed  steeds  would  COG 
•out  to  carry  them. 

Both  at  the  same  instant  sprang  from  their  saddles  ;  and,  with  gun£ 
grasped  and  ready  to  defend  themselves  against  whatever  enemy,  ap- 
proached nearer  and  nearer  to  the  building, 

No  one  appeared  in  front  of  the  house.  They  hurried  round  to  the 
rear  :  no  one  was  there.  Equally  deserted  were  the  grounds  and  tho 
garden  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  anywhere  —  not  a  voice  to  be  heard, 
except  their  own,  as  they  called  aloud  ;  and  this  only  feebly,  through  the 
hissing  and  roaring  of  the  flames. 

Back  and  forth  rushed  the  two  men  in  eager  haste,  going  round  and 
round  the  house,  and  exploring  every  spot  that  might  be  expected  to 
conceal  either  friend  or  foe.  But  in  spite  of  their  most  eager  search,  and 
the  constant  summons  of  their  shouts,  not  a  Creature  appeared,  and  no 
response  reached  them. 

For  a  moment  they  paused  to  consider. 

It  was  evident  the  conflagration  had  been  going  on  for  some  time.  The 
upper  storey  —  which  was  but  a  framework  of  light  timber  —  was  now 
nearly  consumed,  and  only  the  stone-work  below  left  standing.  Over 
this  the  larger  beams  had  fallen  —  no  longer  emitting  flame,  but  lying 
transversely  upon  each  other,  charred,  red,  and  smouldering. 

On  finding  no  one  near  the  "dwelling,  Cubina  and  Herbert  made  for  the 
itforks.  These  were  all  standing  untouched  ;  and  it  was  evident  that  no 
ittempt  had  been  made  to  fire  them.  Only  the  mansion  had  been  given 
o  the  flames. 

On  arriving  among  the  out-buildings,  the  two  men  again  raised  their 
voices  ;  but,  as  before?  without  receiving  a  reply. 

Here  everything  was  dark  and  silent  as  the  tomb  —  a  silence  more  ex- 
pressive by  contrast  with  the  awe-inspiring  sounds  of  the  conflagration 
raging  at  a  distance.  Neither  in  the  curing-house  nor  the  mill,  nor  the 
mash-house  nor  the  stable,  oould  any  one  be  discovered.  Not  an  indi- 
lidual  to  be  seen,  not  a  voico  to  respond  to  their  oft-repeated  halloos,  | 

On  rushed  they  to  the  negro  cabins  1  Surely  there  some  one  would  he 
found  ?  All  could  not  have  fled  through  fear  of  the  robber-band  ? 

As  the  two  men  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  negro  village,  a  figure 
•tar  ted  up  in  the  path  —  having  just  emerged  out  of  the  bushes.  In  that 
•emblance  to  the  imp  of  darkness,  seen  under  the  distant  glare  of  the 
conflagration,  Herbert  recognised  his  old  acquaintance  Quashie. 

Quashie  had  already  identified  him. 

M  Oh,  young  massr  1"  cried  the  dancey,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  ;  "  de  Buff 
am  a  blazin'!  It  be  all  burn  up  P 

44  Crambo  !  tell  us  something  w  don't  know  1"  impatiently  demanded 
Cubiaa.  "  Who  haa  set  it  o»  fire  .  Do  you  know  that  T" 


DREAD   CONJECTURES. 

"Did  you  see  the  incendarieB  ?"  hurriedly  addel  Herbert. 

"  See  who,  massr  ?" 

"  Those  who  set  the  house  on  tire  ?"  inquired  Herbert,  still  speaking 
with  anxious  haste. 

"Yea — massr,  I  seed  dem — when  dey  first  rush  up  de  front  'fairway.'' 

"  Well — speak  quickly — who  and  what  were  they?  What  weie  they 
like?" 

"  Law,  massr,  dey  wers  like  so  many  debbilH.  Dey  were  fligga  Qieu, 
an'  some  had  mask  on  dar  faces.  Folks  say  it  war  de  Maroon  ob  d« 
mountains.  Black  Bet  she  deny  dat,  and  say  no.  She  say  'twar  somt 
robbers  ob  de  mountains,  an'  dat  dey  come  fo'  carry  off " 

"  Your  young  mistress  ?  Miss  Vaughau  ?  Where  ?  where  ?"  inter 
rupted  Herbert,  gasping  out  the  unfinished  interrogatory. 

u  And  Yola,  my  lad  1    Have  you  seen  her  ?"  added  Cubina. 

"  No,  genlums,''  replied  Quashie  ;  "  I  seen  neider  de  young  missa,  no' 
de  brown  gal  Yola.  Dey  war  boaf  up  in  de  great  hall.  I  no  go  up  dar 
myseff.  I'se  feard  dey'd  kill  dis  chile  ef  be  go  up  da.  I  stayed  down 
below,  till  I  see  Mr.  'Mythje  a  comiu'  down  de  stair.  Lor — how  he  did 
streak  it  down  dem  dere  stone  step.  He  run  in  under  de  arch  below.  I 
guess  he  go  hide  dere.  Den  I  took  to  ma  heels,  'long  wif  de  oder  folk ; 
an'  we  all  go  hide  in  de  bushes.  Massa  Thorn  an'  de  house  people  dey 
all  run  for  de  woods — dey  none  o'em  nebber  come  back  yet." 

"  Oh,  heavens  1"  exclaimed  Herbert,  in  a  voice  of  anguish  ;  "  can  it  bo 
possible?  You  are  sure,"  said  he,  once  more  appealing  to  the  darkey, 
"you  are  sure  you  saw  nothing  of  your  young  mistress?" 

"  Nor  of  Yola  T"  asked  the  Maroon,  equally  as  distressed  as  his  com 
panion. 

"I  decla'  I  didn't — neider  o'  'em  two,"  emphatically  exclaimed  Quashie  ; 
**  See  yonner !"  he  added,  pointing  towards  the  burning  pile,  and  speaking 
in  an  accent  of  alarm.  "  Golly  1  dey  ant  gone  'way  yet — de  robbers  1  de 
robbers  1" 

Herbert  and  Cubina,  who,  while  in  conversation  with  Quashie,  had  bees 
•tanding  with  their  backs  towards  the  fire,  faced  suddenly  round.  Aa 
they  did  so  th^ey  perceived  several  dark  forms  moving  between  them  and 
the  bright  background  of  the  flames  ;  their  shadows  projected  in  gigantic 
outlines  up  to  the  spot  where  the  spectators  stood.  There  were  about 
half-a-dozen  in  all — just  about  the  number  at  which  Quashie  had  roughly 
estimated  the  incendiaries. 

Both  sprang  forward  regardless  of  consequences,  resolved  upon  know- 
ing the  worst ;  and,  if  their  apprehensions  should  prove  true,  determined 
upon  death  or  vengeance. 


BMYTHJE   STILL   LIVINCk 


CHAPTER    CXTV. 

SMYTUJE     STILL     LIVIKOl 

WJTH  their  pieces  cocked,  and  ready  for  instant  execution,  Cub ina  and 
Herbert  was  pressing  to  get  within  range  ;  when  the  notes  of  a  horii, 
sounded  by  one  of  the  men  before  the  fire,  came  swelling  upon  their 
tars. 

The  sounds  were  re-assuring.  Cubina  new  the  signal  of  his  lieutenant, 
Hid  they  were  now  near  enough  to  recognise  the  colossal  Quaco  standing 
in  the  glare  of  red  light,  surrounded  by  some  half-dozen  of  his  comrades. 

Quaco  had  left  the  corpse  upon  the  road,  also  the  prisoners  well 
guarded  by  a  couple  of  his  followers  ;  and — thinking  he  might  be  wanted 
at  Mount  Welcome — had  hurried  forward  close  upon  the  heels  of  the 
Norsemen. 

This  accession  of  strength  might  have  proved  useful  had  the  enemy 
been  upon  the  ground.  Where  were  the  robbers — the  incendiaries — per- 
haps the  murderers  ?  Where  was  Miss  Vaughan  *  Where  the  maid 
Yola? 

Had  they  escaped  among  the  domestics  ?  or 

The  alternative  thought  was  too  horrible  for  utterance.  Neither  Her- 
bert nor  Cubina  could  trust  themselves  to  give  speech  to  it;  only  in  their 
minds  did  the  interrogatory  shape  itself :  had  they  perished  in  the  /lames  ? 

Fearful  as  was  the  thought,  it  could  not  fail  to  be  entertained ;  ami  in 
the  solemn  silence  which  the  reflection  produced,  all  stood  hopelessly 
gazing  upon  the  ruthless  fire  that  was  fast  reducing  the  noble  mansion  to 
a  shapelesa  and  mouldering  ruin. 

At  that  mome'nt  the  stillness  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  proceeding 
from  an  unexpected  quarter.  It  appeared  to  come  from  out  the  great 
}  arched  vault  under  the  stone  stairway,  from  a  corner  shrouded  in  com- 
parative darkness.  It  was  partly  an  exclamation,  partly  a  groan. 

Quaco  was  the  first  to  seek  an  explanation.  Seizing  a  fagot  that  still 
flamed,  he  rushed  under  the  archway  regardless  of  the  scorching  heat. 

Herbert  and  Cubina  quickly  followed,  and  ah*  three  stood  within  the 

TMlM. 

Quaco  waved  the  torch  in  front  of  his  body,  to  illuminate  the  place. 

The  eyes  of  all  three  simultaneously  rested  upon  an  object—that,  at 
»riy  other  time,  might  have  elicited  from  them  peals  of  laughter. 

In  the  cornier  of  the  vault  stood  a  half-hogshead,  or  large  tub — its  head 
covered  with  a  heavy  lid.  Near  the  upper  edge  a  large  square  hole  had 
l.een  sawed  out ;  so  that  a  hand  containing  a  quart  measure  might  be  in- 
serted, without  the  necessity  of  raising  the  lid.  Inside,  and  directly  or> 
polite  this  opening,  appeared  the  face  of  a  man,  with  ample  whiskerg  and 


336  SMYTH  JE  STILL 

moustaches  ;  which  face,  despite  the  bedaubment  of  something  that  resem- 
bled treacle  or  tar,  was  at  once  identified  as  that  of  the  aristocratic 
Smythjo  ! 

"  Mr.  'Mythje  1"  cried  Quashie,  who  had  followed  the  others  under  the 
archway.  "  I  seed  him " 

"Fact,  ma  fwenda,  it's  nawbody  else  but  maseff,"  interrupted  the  ludi- 
crous image  within  the  hogshead,  as  soon  as  he  recognised  his  antXent 
deliverer  Quaco.  "Aw  took  wefuge  here  fwom  those  howid  wobbers. 
Be  eo  good  as  waise  the  wid,  and  pawmit  me  to  get  out  of  this  quoeaw 
eituation.  Aw  was  afwaid  aw  should  be  dwowned.  Ba  jawve  aw  bwieva  > 
it's  tweakle?"  $ 

Quaco,  endeavouring  to  suppress  his  laughter,  lost  no  time  in  throwing 
up  the  lid,  and  extracting  the  sufferer  from  his  sweet,  though  uup'&asant, 
position :  for  it  was  in  reality  a  hogshead  of  molasses,  into  which  the 
terrified  Smythje  had  soused  himself,  and  in  which,  during  the  continu- 
ance of  the  tragedy  being  enacted  over  his  head,  he  had  remained  buried 
up  to  the  neok ! 

Placed  upright  upon  his  legs,  on  the  flagged  floor  of  the  vault,  glisten- 
ing from  neck  to  heel  with  a  thick  coat  of  the  slimy  treacle,  the  proud 
proprietor  of  Montagu  Castle  presented  even  a  more  ludicrous  appear- 
ance than  when  Quaco  had  last  seen  him  upon  the  summit  of  the  hollow 
stump. 

The  latter,  recalling  this  scene  to  memory,  and  unrestrained  by  other 
sentiments,  could  no  longer  restrain  himself  from  giving  way  to  loud 
laughter,  in  which  Quashie,  equally  free  from  sorrow,  took  part. 

With  Herbert  and  Cubina  it  was  not  the  moment  for  mirth ;  and  as 
soon  as  Smythje  had  been  fairly  deposited  on  his  feet,  both  eagerly  ques- 
tioned him  as  to  the  circumstances  that  had  transpired. 

Smythje  admitted  having  fled — at  the  same  time  making  an  awkward 
attempt  to  justify  himself.  According  to  his  own  account,  and  the  state- 
ment was  perfectly  true,  it  was  not  till  after  he  had  been  overpowered 
and  struck  down,  that  he  betook  himself  to  flight  How  could  he  do 
otherwise  ?  His  antagonist  was  a  giant,  a  man  of  vast  magnitude  and 
strength. 

"  A  howid  qweetyaw,"  continued  Smythje ;  "  a  queetyaw  with  long 
arms,  and  a  defawmity — a  pwotubewance  upoc  his  shawders,  like  the 
haunch  of  a  dwomedawy !" 

"  And  what  of  Kate,  my  cousin  ?"  cried  Herbert,  interrupting  the  ex- 
quisite, with  contemptuous  impatience. 

"  Aw — aw — yes  1  yaw  cousin — ma  paw  Kate  I  A  feaw  the  wobbers 
have  bawn  her  off.  A  know  she  was  bwought  outside.  Aw  heard  haw 
•cweam  out  as  they  were  dwagging  naw  down  the  staiw — aw — aw " 

"  Thank  heaven,  then  1"  exclaimed  Herbert ;  "  thank  heaven,  she  still 
lives  1" 

Cubina  had  not  waited  for  the  whole  of  Sniythje's  explanation.  Th* 
•Inscription  of  the  robber  had  given  him  his  cue ;  and,  rushing  ou^ide, 
ite  blew  a  single  blast  upon  his  horn — the  "  assembly"  of  his  band. 

The  Maroons,  who  hud  scattered  around  the  ruin,  instantly  obeyed  th« 
l,  and  soon  stood  mustered  on  the  spot. 

n  the  scout,  comrades !"  cried  Cubing    "  J  know  &9  wild  boai 


OK   THE   TRACK   OF    THE    DESTROYER.  337 

that  has  been  making  this  havoc.  I  know  where  the  monster  makes  km 
den.  Crambo.'  Ere  an  hour  passes  over  his  head,  he  shall  answer  for 
thii  rillany  with  his  accursed  life,  Follow  me  1" 


CHAPTER  OXV. 

OM  TEX  f BACK  OF  THB  DISTBOTOL 

As  Gubiua  pronounced  this  command,  he  faced  towards  the  mountain,  and 
was  hastening  to  gain  the  wicket  in  the  garden  wall,  when  an  object 
came  before  his  eyes  that  caused  him  to  halt.  Amidst  the  gloom,  it  *as 
a  sight  that  gave  him  joy. 

He  was  not  the  only  one  to  whom  it  brought  gladness.  Among  the 
Maroons  that  had  come  with  Quaco  was  one  who  had  been  suffering  an- 
guish eaually  with  Herbert  and  Gubina — one  who  had  equal  cause  for 
grief — if  not  for  the  loss  of  sweetheart  or  cousin,  for  that  which  should 
be  dear  as  either — a  tuttr. 

A  sister  for  whose  sake  he  had  crossed  the  wide  ocean — had  been 
sold  into  slavery — robbed  by  ruthless  men — branded  as  a  felon— -chas- 
tised by  the  cruel  scourge — had  suffered  every  indignity  which  man 
could  put  on  man.  In  this  individual  may  be  identified  the  young  Foolah 
prince — the  unfortunate  Cingues. 

What  was  it  that  gave  Cubina  joy — shared  thus  by  Gingftes  ? 

It  may  be  easily  guessed.  It  was  the  sight  of  a  female  form,  recognis- 
ed by  both — the  sweetheart  of  the  one,  the  sister  of  the  other — Tola  t 

The  girl  was  at  that  moment  seen  coming  through  the  wicket  gate. 
Once  inside,  she  made  no  stop,  but  hastened  across  the  garden  towards 
the  group  of  men. 

In  another  instant  she  was  standing  between  her  brother  and  lover, 
sharing  the  embrace  of  both. 

Her  story  was  soon  told,  and  by  all  listened  to  with  breathless  atten- 
tion —by  Herbert  Vaughan  witfy  emotions  that  wrung  blood-drops  from 
his  near  t.  It  was  short  but  far  too  long  for  the  impatience  of  apprehen- 
sion and  revenge. 

The  girl  had  been  in  one  of  the  chambers  as  the  robbers  entered  th* 
great  hall.  Regardless  of  consequences,  she  had  rushed  out  among  them. 
Like  Smythjo,  she  had  been  struck  down,  and  lay  for  some  minutes  in- 
sensible, unconscious  of  what  was  transpiring. 

When  her  senses  returned,  and  she  could  look  around  her,  she  perceived 
that  her  young  mistress  was  no  longer  in  the  room.  The  monsters  were 
at  that  moment  in  the  act  of  setting  fire  to  the  mansion. 

A  scream  outside  directed  her.  She  recognised  the  voice  of  her  mis 
tress. 

Springing  to  her  feet,  she  glided  through  the  open  door,  and  down  th» 
stairway.  The  robbers  were  too  much  occupied — some  with  their  booty, 
others  with  their  scheme  of  incendiarism.  They  either  did  not  observe 
or  did  not  think  it  worth  while  further  to  molest  her. 

On  getting  outside,  she  saw  her  young  mistress  borns  off  in  tha  arms  of 


338  ON  THE   TRACK   OF   THE   DESTROYER. 

A  huge,  mis-shapen  man.  He  wore  a  mask  ovei  his  face  ;  but  far  all  thi* 
she  could  tell  that  it  was  the  same  individual  she  had  seen  upon  the  pre- 
ceding night  in  company  with  the  Jew.  The  masked  man,  whose  atten- 
tion seemed  wholly  engrossed  by  his  precious  prize,  went  oil  alone 
leaving  the  others  to  continue  their  work  of  plunder  and  devastation. 

The  African  maid,  in  her  native  land  habituated  tc-  similar  scenes,  with 
ft  quick  instinct  perceived  the  impossibility  of  rescuing  her  mistress  at 
>hat  moment ;  and,  abandoning  the  idea  of  making  an  idle  attempt,  she 
determined  to  follow  and  ascertain  to  what  place  the  robber  was  taking 
her.  She  might  then  return  to  Mount  Welcome,  and  guide  those  who 
would  be  sent  upon  the  pursuit. 

Gliding  silently  along  the  path,  and  taking  care  not  to  show  herself, 
she  had  kept  the  robber  in  view,  without  losing  sight  of  him  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  darkness  was  in  her  favour,  as  also  the  sloping  path — enab- 
ling her  to  see  from  below,  while  she  was  herself  in  little  danger  of  be- 
ing seen. 

In  this  way  had  she  followed  the  robber  up  the  declivity  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  in  an  oblique  direction  across  it,  still  keeping  close  behind  him ; 
when  all  at  once,  and  to  her  astonishment,  she  saw  him  suddenly  disap- 
pear into  the  earth — bearing  her  young  mistress  upon  his  arm — like  son.* 
monstrous  fiend  of  the  other  world,  who  had  stolen  a  sweet  image  of  this, 
and  was  carrying  her  to  his  dread  home  in  the  regions  of  darkness. 

Notwithstanding  the  supernatural  fear  with  which  the  sudden  disap- 
pearance had  inspired  her,  the  bold  maiden  was  not  deterred  from  pro- 
ceeding to  the  spot. 

Both  her  terror  and  astonishment  were  in  some  degree  modified  when 
she  looked  over  a  cliff,  and  saw  the  sheen  of  water  at  the  bottom  of  a 
dark  abysm  yawning  beneath  her  feet.  In  the  dim  light,  she  could  trace 
something  like  a  means  of  descent  down  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  this  at 
once  dispelled  all  idea  of  the  supernatural. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  follow  farther.  She  had  seen  enough  to  enable 
her  to  guide  the  pursuit ;  and,  instantly  turning  back  upon  the  path,  she 
hastened  down  the  declivity  of  the  mountain. 

She  was  thinking  of  Cubina  and  his  Maroons — how  soon  her  courage- 
ous sweetheart  with  his  brave  band  would  have  rescued  her  unfortunate 
mistress — when  at  that  moment,  in  the  light  of  the  flickering  fire,  sh»  re- 
cognised the  very  image  that  was  occupying  her  thoughts. 

II or  story  was  communicated  in  hurried  phrase  to  Gubina  and  his  com- 
raJes,  who,  without  losing  a  moment  of  time,  passed  through  the  wicket- 
tjate,  and  with  all  the  speed  in  their  power,  commenced  ascending  the 
mountain  road. 

Yola  remained  behind  with  Quashie  and  the  other  domestics,  who  were 
now  flocking  around  the  great  fire,  looking  like  spectres  in  the  flickering 
light. 

Cubiua  required  no  guide  to  conduct  him.  Forewarned  by  that  wild 
conversation  he  had  overheard,  as  well  as  by  the  events  of  the  proceed- 
ing day,  he  had  already  surmised  the  author  of  that  hellish  deed.  More 
ikjiii  surmised  in ;  he  was  satisfied  that  whatever  head  had  planned,  th* 
h&ud  that  had  perpetrated  it  waa  that  of  Chakra,  the  Corowautee, 


TOO   LATE.  339 

CHAPTER    CXVI. 
TOO  LATE! 

EAGIH  as  hounds  upon  a  fresh  trail — quick  as  young,  strong  limbs  could 
carry  them — pressed  the  pursuers  up  the  steep  path  that  jed  to  the  Dup- 
py's  Hole. 

Words  could  but  feebly  express  the  agony  ranling  in  the  heart  of  Her 
bfcrt  Yaughan.  He  knew  not  Chakra  in  person :  but  a  full  description  of 
him,  .morally  as  well  as  phyisically,  had  been  imparted  to  him  by  Cubina  on 
the  day  before.  It  was  not  strange  he  should  tremble  with  fear  for  the 
fate  of  her  who  was  now  in  the  power  of  a  monster  so  fell  and  fiend-like 
— not  strange  that  his  soul  should  be  filled  with  anguish. 

That  conditional  phrase — "  We  may  be  too  latel" — spoken  as  he  urged 
his  horse  along  the  road  ;  repeated  as  he  came  within  sight  of  the  burn- 
ing mansion— once  more  found  utterance  on  his  lips  ;  but  now  more  em- 
phatically and  with  a  far  more  fearful  significance. 

His  was  a  situation  to  stir  the  soul  to  its  profoundest  depths.  Even 
had  the  victim  of  the  vile  abduction  been  no  more  than  his  consin,  he 
could  not  have  failed  to  feel  keenly  the  danger  that  threatened  her. 

But  now  that  he  viewed  Kate  Vaughan  in  another  and  very  different 
light — certain,  from  what  Cubina  had  told  him,  that  she  reciprocated  his 
love — under  the  influence  of  this  sentiment,  his  distress  was  ten  fold 
greater.  So  late,  too,  had  he  become  possessed  of  that  knowledge — so 
sweet  had  been  the  ecstacy  it  produced — that  the  sudden  revulsion  waa 
all  the  more  dreadful  to  endure. 

While  murmuring  the  words, "  We  may  be  too  late,"  he  dare  scarce 
trust  himself  to  give  thought  to  the  form  of  danger  whose  dread  waa 
thus  hypothetically  predicted. 

Cubina,  though,  perhaps,  a  little  less  anxious  than  before,  was  equally 
earnest  in  the  pursuit ;  and,  indeed,  every  one  of  the  Maroon  band 
showed  to  some  extent  the  feelings  of  painful  apprehension  that  actuat- 
ed their  leader,  whom  they  knew  to  be  the  friend  of  the  young  English- 
man. No  one  showed  a  disposition  to  lag.  All  were  alike  eager  to  aid 
in  the  resci^  of  the  unfortunate  young  *ady,  known  to  most  of  ttiem, 
'  and  honour*.  \  by  those  to  whom  she  wab  known. 

The  horses  had  been  left  behind.  On  the  steep  and  tangled  path  they 
would  have  been  only  an  encumbrance. 

Perhaps,  never  before,  by  man  on  foot,  had  that  path  been  traversed 
in  so  short  a  space  of  time.  There  was  no  delay  on  account  of  the  dark" 
ness.  AR  if  by  divine  favour,  the  moon  had  opportunely  arisen,  just  as 
they  were  passing  through  the  wicket-gate,  and  by  her  light  they  were 
able  to  proceed  without  pause  or  interruption.  No  stop  was  made  any- 
where, till  the  pursuers  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  Duppy  cliff,  and 
looked  down  into  that  dark  abysm,  where  they  hoped  to  find  the  spoilez 
and  his  victim. 

Scarce  a  moment  there,  either.  One  after  another  they  descended  the 
free  stairway,  Cubina  going  first,  Herbert  next,  the  others  following,  witi 
tike,  rapidity . 


340  TO0   LATE. 

With  the  instinct,  of  trained  hunters  all  made  the  descent  in  silence, 
Only  or  arriving  at  the  bottom  of  the  cliff  did  an  exclamation  escape 
from  the  lips  of  their  chief — Cubina. 

The  sight  of  a  canoe,  drawn  up  under  the  bushes,  had  elicited  this  ex- 
clamation— which  expressed  surprise  mingled  with  disappointment. 

Herbert  saw  the  canoe  almost  at  the  same  instant  of  time,  but  without 
drawing  the  inference  that  had  caused  Cubina  to  utter  that  cry.  He 
turned  to  the  latter  for  an  explanation. 

"  The  canoe  1"  whispered  Cubina,  pointing  down  to  the  little  craft  half 
hidden  under  the  leafy  branches. 

"  I  see  it,"  said  Herbert,  also  speaking  in  a  whisper.  **  What  does 
it  signify  t" 

"  They  have  gone  out  again." 

"  Oh,  heaven  1"  cried  Herbert,  in  an  accent  of  anguish,  the  more  expres- 
sive from  the  low  tone  in  which  the  words  were  uttered.  "  If  that  be  so, 
then  we  art  too  late — she  is  lost! — lost !" 

"  Patience,  comrade !  Perhaps  it  is  only  Chakra  himself  who  has  gone 
out ;  or,  maybe,  some  one  of  the  robbers  who  have  been  helping  him, 
and  who  may  be  expected  to  return  again.  In  any  case,  we  must  search 
the  valley  and  make  sure.  Step  into  the  canoo  I  You  can't  swim  in  your 
clothes,  while  my  fellows  are  not  embarrassed  in  that  way.  Here,  Quaco  I 
get  your  guns  aboard  this  cockle-shell,  and  all  of  you  take  to  the  water. 
Swim  silently.  No  splashing,  do  you  hear  ?  Keep  cloee  under  the  cliff  1 
Swim  within  the  shadow,  and  straight  for  the  other  side. 

Without  more  delay  the  guns  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  until 
all  were  deposited  in  the  canoe.  Cubina  and  Herbert  had  already  step- 
ped into  the  frail  craft,  the  former  taking  possession  of  the  paddle. 

In  another  instant  the  little  vessel  shot  out  from  the  bushes,  and  glided 
silently  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliff." 

Some  half-dozen  human  forms,  their  heads  just  appearing  above  the 
surface  of  the  water,  followed  in  its  wake — swimming  with  as  little  noise 
as  if  they  had  been  a  brood  of  beavers. 

There  was  no  need  to  direct  the  canoe  to  its  old  landing-place  under 
the  tree.  Cubina  knew  that  this  had  been  chosen  for  a  concealment. 
Instead  of  going  thither,  he  made  for  the  nearest  point  of  the  opposite 
shore.  On  touching  land  he  stepped  out,  making  a  sign  to  his  fcllovr 
royager  to  imitate  hi»  example. 

The  Maroons  waded  out  the  moment  after  ;  and  once  more  getting 
bold  of  their  guns,  followed  their  captain  and  his  companion — already  on 
their  route  to  the  upper  cascade. 

There  was  no  path  from  the  point  where  they  had  landed;  and  for 
some  time  they  struggled  through  a  thicket  almost  impervious.  There 
was  no  danger,  however,  of  their  losing  the  way.  The  sound  of  the  fall- 
ing water  was  an  infallible  guide ;  for  Cubina  well  remembered  the  prox- 
imity of  the  hut  to  the  upper  cascade,  and  it  was  for  this  point  they 
were  making. 

As  they  advanced,  the  underwood  became  eaeier  to  traverse ;  and  they 
wore  enabled  to  proceed  more  rapidly. 

There  was  something  lugubrious  in  the  sound  of  the  cataract.  Cabin* 
was  painfully  impressed  by  it,  and  equally  so  his  companion.  It 


TOO   LATE.  341 

fcd  ominous  in  the  ears  of  both ;  and  it  was  easy  to  fancy  sighs  of  dis* 
tress,  wild  waitings  of  a  woman's  voice,  mingling  with  the  hoarser  tonei 
of  the  torrent. 

They  reached  at  length  the  edge  of  the  opening  that  extended  for  some 
distance  beyond  the  branches  of  the  cotton  tree.  The  hut  was  before 
their  eyes.  A  light  was  shining  through  the  open  door.  It  cast  its  re- 
flection across  the  ground  shadowed  by  the  great  tree,  till  it  met  the  sur- 
face silvered  by  the  moo*  .  Though  faint,  and  apparently  flickering,  the 
light  gave  joy  to  the  eyes  that  beheld  it  It  was  evidence  that  the  hut 
was  occupied. 

Who  but  Chakra  could  be  there  ?  And  if  Chakra,  there  too  must  be 
his  victim  ? 

Oh  1  was  she  his  victim  T    Had  the  rescue  arrived  too  latot 

Cubina's  bosom  was  filled  with  sad  forebodings.  Herbert's  heart  was 
on  fire.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  either  could  control  his  emotion  to  ap- 
proach with  that  caution  that  prudence  required. 

Making  a  sign  to  his  followers  to  stay  among  the  trees,  the  Maroon 
captain,  with  Herbert  by  his  side,  crept  up  towards  the  cotton-tree. 

Having  got  fairly  under  its  shadow,  they  rose  to  their  feet,  and  with  the 
•Hence  of  disembodied  spirits,  glided  close  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  hut 

In  another  instant  the  silence  was  broken  by  both.  A  simultaneous 
cry  escaped  them  as  they  arrived  in  front  of  the  open  door,  and  locked  in. 
It  was  a  cry  that  expressed  the  extreme  of  disappointment.  Tto  hovel 
emptjrl 


THE   CORt»8i!   Of   A 


CHAPTER   CXTIL 

THE    CORPSE    OF    A    COUSIN. 

the  temple  of  Obi  was  untenanted,  save  by  those   lumb  deitie*  ih»i 
grinned  grotesquely  around  its  walls. 

To  ascertain  this  fact  it  was  not  necessary  to  enter  within  the  shrine  of 
tke  Coromantee  pantheon.  Nevertheless,  Oubina  and  Herbert,  as  if  moved 
by  a  mechanical  impulse,  rushed  inside  the  door. 

They  looked  around  with  inquiring  glances.  There  were  signs  of  late 
occupation.  The  lighted  lamp  was  of  itself  sufficient  evidence  of  this. 
Who  save  Chakra  could  have  lit  it  ?  It  was  a  lamp  of  lard,  burning  in 
the  carapace  of  a  tortoise.  It  could  not  have  been  long  alight;  since  but 
little  of  the  lard  was  consumed. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Chakra  had  been  there,  with  his  captive. 
That  added  nothing  to  the  knowledge  they  possessed  already;  since 
Tola  had  witnessed  their  descent  into  the  Duppy's  Hole. 

But  why  had  the  robber  so  suddenly  forsaken  this  apparently  safe  re' 
treat?  That  the  lamp  was  left  burning  betokened  a  hasty  departure 
And  whither  cowl'1  he  have  gone  ? 

"  Oh,  where? — on,  where  ?"  distractedly  interrogated  Herbert. 
Oibina  could  make  no  answer.    He  was  equally  astonished  at  not  find 
ing  the  Coromantee  within  his  hut. 

Had  he  once  more  gone  out  from  the  Duppy's  Hole?  The  position  of 
the  canoe  gave  colour  to  this  conjecture.  -But  why  should  ho  have  done 
BO  ?  Had  he  caught  sight  of  that  agile  girl  gliding  like  a  shadow  after 
him  ?  and,  becoming  suspicious  th,at  his  retreat  might  be  discovered,  had 
tie  forsaken  it  for  some  other  at  a  great  distance  from  the  scene  of  hia 
crime  ? 

In  any  case,  why  should  he  have  left  in  such  haste,  not  staying  to  put 
out  the  light— much  less  to  carry  with  him  his  peculiar  penates? 

"  After  all,"  thought  Cubina,  "  he  may  still  be  in  the  Duppy's  Hole  ? 
The  canoe  may  have  been  used  by  some  one  else — some  confederate  ? 
Chakra  might  have  seen  his  pursuers  crossing  the  lagoon,  or  heard  them 
advancing  through  the  thicket,  and,  taking  his  captive  along  with  him 
may  have  hastily  retreated  into  some  dark  recess  among  the  trees." 

His  sudden  abandonment  of  the-hovel  rendered  this  view  of  the  case 
the  more  probable. 

Quick  as  came  the  thojught,  Cubina  once  more  rushed  out  of  the  hut 
and  summoning  his  men  around  him,  directed  them  to  procure  torches  and 


THE   COfcFSE   OP  A   COT7SIN.  343 

gearch  every  corner  of  the  wood.  Quaco  was  dispatched  back  to  the 
canoe,  with  orders  to  stay  by  it,  and  prevent  any  chance  of  escape  in  thai 
direction. 

While  the  Maroons  proceeded  tc  procure  the  torchwood,  their  chief, 
accompanied  by  Herbert,  commenced  quartering  the  open  ground  in 
search  of  any  trace  which  Chakra  might  have  left.  By  the  edge  of  the 
water,  where  the  trees  stood  thinly,  the  moon  afforded  ample  light  to 
*avour  the  investigation. 

On  advancing  towards  the  cascade,  an  object  came  under  the  eyes  ot 
thibina  that  caused  him  to  utter  a  quick  ejaculation.  It  was  something 
white  that  lay  by  the  side  of  the  cauldron  into  which  the  stream  was  pre- 
cipitated. Within  the  pool  itself  were  broad  flakes  of  white  foam  float- 
ing upon  the  water  ;  but  this  was  not  in  the  water,  but  above  it,  on  one 
of  the  boulders,  and  ah1  the  more  conspicious  from  the  black  colour  of 
the  rock. 

Herbert  had  seen  the  white  object  at  the  same  instant  of  time,  and 
both  simultaneously  ran  forward  to  examine  it. 

A  scarf I 

It  bore  evidence  of  ill-usage.  It  was  tossed  and  torn,  as  if  it  had  fal- 
len from  some  one  who  had  been  struggling  1 

Neither  could  identify  the  scarf,  but  neither  doubted  to  whom  it  had 
belonged.  Its  quality  declared  it  to  have  been  the  property  of  a  lady. 
Who  else  could  have  owned  it  but  she  for  whom  they  were  in  search? 

Cubina  appeared  to  pay  less  attention  to  the  scarf  than  to  the  place  in 
which  it  lay.  It  was  close  up  to  the  cliff,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  pool 
into  which  the  stream  was  projected. 

Behind  this  pool,  and  under  the  curved  sheets  of  the  falling  water,  a 
sort  of  ledge  ran  across,  bv  which  one  could  pass  under  the  cascade. 

Cubina  knew  this  :  for,  while  on  his  hunting  excursions,  he  had  gone 
under  it  He  knew,  moreover,  that,  half  way  across,  there  was  a  large 
cave  or  grotto  in  the  cliff,  several  feet  above  the  water  in  the  pool. 

As  the  scarf  was  found  lying  upon  the  ledge  that  conducted  to  this 
grotto,  the  circumstance  caused  the  Maroon  to  remember  it,  at  the  same 
time  that  it  guided  him  to  the  conjecture  that  Chakra  might  be  there. 
Alarmed  by  tbsir  approach,  there  was  nothing  more  likely  than  for  tho 
Coromantee  to  ha^e  cbo^t  the  cave  for  his  place  of  retreat — the  last 
place  where  any  one,  not  aware  of  its  existence,  would  have  thought  of 
looking  for  him. 

Those  reflections  cost  Cubina  scarce  two  seconds  of  time.  Quick  aa 
the  conjecture  had  shaped  itself,  he  ran  back  to  the  hut ;  and,  seizing  a 
torch,  which  one  of  his  men  had  prepared,  he  hurried  back  towards  the 
cascade.1 

Then,  signing  to  Herbert,  and  one  or  two  others,  to  follow  him,  hs 
glided  under  the  canopy  of  falling  waters. 

He  proceeded  not  rashly,  but  with  due  caution.  There  might  be  othert 
within  the  cave  besides  .Chakra?  His  robber  confederates  might  be 
4here  ;  and  these  the  Maroon  knew  to  be  desperate  characters— men  of 
forfeit  lives,  who  would  die  before  suffering  themselves  to  be  capture  1. 

With  his  drawn  machete  in  one  hand,  and  the  torch  in  the  other,  Cubina 
advanced  silently  and  stealthily  towards  the  entrance  of  the  grotto.  Her 


344  THE  CORPSE  OF  A  COIT9IH. 

» 

bert  was  close  behind,  grasping  bis  double  barrelled  gun,  in  readiness  to 
fire,  in  case  resistance  should  be  offered  from  within. 

Holding  the  torch  in  advance  of  him,  Cubina  entered  first,  thtugh  Her 
bert,  anxious  and  eager,  was  close  upon  his  heels. 

The  glare  of  the  torch  was  reflected  back  from  a  thousand  sparkling 
stalactites ;  and  for  awhile  the  sight  of  both  was  bewildered. 

Soon,  however,  their  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dazzling  corrus* 
cation ;  and  then  a  white  object,  lying  along  the  floor  of  the  cavern,  seen 
by  both  at  the  same  instant,  caused  them  to  utter  a  simultaneous  cry — «• 
they  did  so,  turning  to  each  other  with  looks  of  the  most  painful  des- 
pair. 

Between  two  large  masses  of  stalagmite  was  the  body  of  a  woman, 
robed  in  white.  It  was  lying  upon  its  back,  stretched  out  to  its  full 
length — motionless  ;  apparently  dead  1 

They  needed  not  to  pass  the  torch  over  that  pale  face  to  identify  it  It 
was  not  necessary  to  scrutinise  those  wan,  silent  features.  On  first  be- 
Molding  the  prostrate  form,  too  easily  had  Herbert  rushed  to  the  sad  ooo- 
elusion— that  it  was  the  corpse  of  his  cousin! 


THE   SLEEP-SPELL.  345 


CHAPTER   OX1TIII. 

THB   SLEKP-SPKLL 

DTTRIXO  all  this  time  where  was  Chakra  ? 

As  soon  as  he  had  seen  the  mansion  ef  Mount  Welcome  fairly  given  to 
the  flames,  the  Coromantee,  bearing  its  young  mistress  in  his  arms,  hur- 
ried away  from  the  spot.  Outside  the  garden  wicket  he  made  stop  :  only 
for  a  moment,  which  was  spent  in  a  hasty  consultation  with  the  chief  of 
the  black  bandits. 

In  the  brief  dialogue  which  there  took  place  between  them,  Adam 
was  enjoined  to  carry  the  whole  of  the  booty  to  his  mountain  home, 
where  Chakra  promised  in  due  time  to  join  him.  The  Coromantee  had 
no  intention  to  resign  his  share  of  the  spoils ;  but  just  then  he  was  in  no 
mood  for  making  the  division.  He  was  at  that  moment  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  passion,  stronger  than  the  love  of  plunder. 

Adam  was  only  too  eager  to  accede  to  these  terms ;  and  the  confede- 
rates parted  company — the  robber  and  his  followers  at  once  shouldering 
their  booty,  and  setting  out  for  their  forest  dwelling  among  the  far  moun- 
tains of  Trelawney. 

Like  the  tiger  who  has  killed  his  prey — and,  not  daring  to  devour  it  on 
the  spot,  bears  it  to  his  jungle  covert — so  Chakra,  half  dragging,  half 
carrying  Kate  Vaughan,  proceeded  up  the  mountain  path  in  the  direction 
of  the  Duppy's  Hole. 

Lifeless  as  the  victim  of  the  ferocious  beast,  appeared  the  form  of  Lilly 
Quasheba,  hanging  supple  and  unconscious  over  the  arm  of  the  human 
monster — equally  ferocious. 

Her  screams  no  longer  fell  upon  the  ear.  Her  terror  had  exhausted 
her  strength.  Syncope,  resembling  death,  had  succeeded. 

It  continued,  happily  for  her,  during  the  whole  of  the  transit  up  the 
mountain.  The  wild  forest  path  had  no  terrors  for  her :  neither  the  des- 
cent into  the  dank  solitudes  of  the  Duppy's  Hole.  In  the  traverse  over 
that  dark  lagoon,  she  was  not  frightened  by  the  scream  of  the  startled 
night  bird,  nor  the  threateong  roar  of  the  close  cataract.  She  knew  no 
fear,  from  the  moment  she  was  carried  away  in  the  arms  of  a  hideous 
monster,  on  a  path  lighted  by  the  blaze  of  the  roof  under  which  she  had 
been  born  and  reared :  she  experienced  no  feeling  of  any  kind,  until  she 
awoke  to  consciousness  in  a  rude  triangular  hut,  lit  by  a  feeble  lamp, 
whose  glare  fell  upon  a  face  hitherto  well  known — the  face  of  Chakra,  the 
myal-man. 

His  mask  had  been  removed.  The  Coromantee  stood  before  her  in  al 
kis  deformity — of  soul  as  of  person. 


S46 

Terror  could  go  no  farther.  It  had  already  produced  its  ultimate 
effect.  Under  such  circumstances  reproach  would  have  been  idle  ;  indig 
nation  would  only  heve  been  answered  by  brutal  scorn. 

Though  she  might  not  clearly  comprehend  her  situation,  the  young 
oreole  did  riot  think  she  was  dreaming.  No  dream  could  be  so  horrid  aa 
that?  And  yet  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  suoh  a  fearful  scene  co  lid 
be  i  eal  ? 

0  God  1  it  was  real.  Chakra  stood  before  her — his  harsh  voice  wa» 
ringing  in  her  ears.  Its  tone  was  mocking  and  exultant. 

She  was  upon  the  bamboo  bedstead,  where  the  myal-man  ad  placec 
her.  She  had  lain  there  till,  on  her  senses  returning,  she  disco  /ered  wh< 
waa  her  companion.  Then  had  she  started  up — not  to  her  feet,  for  thti 
interposition  of  the  Coromantee  had  hindered  her  from  assuming  an  erect 
position,  but  to  an  attitude  half  reclining,  half  threatening  escape.  In 
this  attitude  was  she  held — partly  through  fear,  partly  by  the  hopeless- 
ness  of  any  attempt  to  change  it. 

The  Coromantee  stood  in  front  of  her.  His  attitude  ?  Was  it  one  of 
menace  ?  No  1  Not  a  threat  threw  out  he — neither  by  words  nor  ges- 
ture. Ou  the  contrary,  he  was  all  softness,  all  suppliauce — a  wooer  1 

He  was  bending  before  her,  repeating  vows  of  love  1  Oh,  heavens  I 
more  fearful  than  threats  of  vengeance  1 

It  was  a  terrible  tableau — this  paraphrase  of  the  Beast  on  his  kneea 
before  Beauty.  - 

The  young  girl  was  too  terrified  to  make  reply.  She  did  not  even  lis- 
ten to  the  disgusting  speeches  addressed  to  her.  She  was  scarce  more 
conscious  than  during  the  period  of  her  syncope. 

After  a  time,  the  Coromantee  appeared  to  lose  patience.  His  unnatural 
passion  chafed  against  restraint.  He  began  to  perceive  the  hopelessness 
of  his  horrid  suit.  It  was  vain  to  indulge  in  that  delirous  dream  of  love 
— in  the  hope  of  its  being  reciprocated — a  hope  with  which  even  satyrs 
are  said  to  nave  been  inspired.  The  repellant  attitude  of  her,  the  object 
of  his  demoniac  adoration — the  evident  *  degout'  too  plainly  expressed  in 
her  frightened  features — showed  Chakra  how  vain  was  his  wooing. 

With  a  sudden  gesture  he  desisted,  raising  himself  into  an  attitude  of 
determination  tihat  bespoke  some  dreadful  design — who  knows  what? 

A  shrill  whistle  pea'Kng  from  without  prevented  its  accomplishment, 
01,  at  all  events,  stayed  it  for  the  time. 

"  Tarn  de  signal  ob  udt  ole  Jew  !"  muttered  he,  evidently  annoyed  by 
the  interruption.  "  Wha  he  want  dia  time  ob  de  night  ?  Tose  it  some 
thin'  'bout  da't  ere  loss  book-keepa?  Wai  a  know  nuffin  'bout  him, 
Dero  'tarn  'gain,  and  fo'  de  tree  time.  Daat  signify  he  am  in  a  hurry. 
Wha's  dat  ?  Foth  time!  Den  dey  be  some  trouble,  sa'tin.  Muss  go  to 
him — muss  go.  He  nehba  sound  the  signal  fo'  time  'less  da  be  some  dea- 
p'rate  casion  fo'  do  so.  Wonder  what  ho  want  ? 

"N«bba  mind,  Ltfly  Quashebal"  added  he,  once  more  addressing  hi« 
speech  to  his  mute  companion.  "  Doan  box  yaseff  'bout  dis  interupshun. 
De  bisuess  'tween  you  'n  me  '11  keep  till  a  gots  back,  an'  den,  p'raps,  a  no 
find  you  so  ob'tinate.  You  come — you  'tay  out  hya — you  muss  no  be 
•een  in  dis  part  ob  de  world."  .  f, 

As  he  said  this,  he  seized  the  inresisting  girl  by  the  wrist,  ami  wa* 
•bout  leading  her  out  of  the  h*£ 

f 


THE   SLEEf-SfELL.  347 

"Hal"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  stopping  to  reflect;  "  dat  woau  do, 
neider.  De  ole  Jew  mussn't  know  she  hya — no  account.  She  mout  ruu 
back  in  de  shanty,  darfur  she  muss  be  tied.  An  den  aha  rnout  'cream  so 
ho  hear  her,  darfur  she  muss  be  gagged." 

Still  holding  her  wrist  in  his  grasp,  he  looked  around  the  hut  as  if  i« 
tearch  of  the  means  to  put  this  design  into  execution. 

"  Ha  1"  he  ejaculated,  as  if  inspired  by  some  new  thought  "  What  hab 
ft  been  bodderin'  ma  brains  'bout  ?  Dar's  a  better  plan  dan  eider  tyin'  or 
gaggin' — better  dan  boaf  put  togedder?  De  sleepin'  draff.  Dar's  d« 
berry  ting  keep  her  quiet.  Wha's  de  bottle,  a  wonder  ?  Dar  am  be." 

With  this,  he  stretched  forth  his  disengaged  hand  ;  and  drew  some- 
thing out  of  a  sort  of  pocket  cut  in  the  palm-leaf  thatch.  It  appeared  to 
be  a  long  narrow  phial,  filled  with  a  dark  coloured  fluid,  and  tightly 
corked. 

"  Now,  young  missa  1"  said  he,  drawing  out  the  cork  with  his  teeth, 
and  placing  himself  as  if  intending  to  administer  a  draught  to  his  terrified 
patient :  "  you  take  a  suck  out  ob  dis  hya  bottle.  Doan  be  'feered.  He 
do  no  harm — he  do  you  good — make  you  feel  berry  comf'able,  I'se  bo 
boun'.  Drink  1" 

The  poor  girl  instinctively  drew  back ;  but  the  monoter,  letting  go  her 
wrist,  caught  hold  of  her  by  the  hair,  and,  twisting  her  luxuriant  tresses 
around  his  ebony  fingers,  held  her  head  as  firmly  as  if  in  a  vice.  Then, 
with  1he  other  hand,  he  inserted  the  neck  of  the  phial  between  her  lips, 
and,  forcing  it  through  her  teeth,  poured  a  portion  of  the  liquid  down 
her  throat. 

There  was  no  attempt  to  scream — scarce  any  at  resistance- — on  the  part 
af  the  young  Creole.  Almost  freely  did  she  swallow  the  draught  So 
prostrate  was  her  spirit  at  that  moment,  that  she  would  scarce  have 
cared  to  refuse  it,  even  had  she  known  it  to  be  poison  1 

And  not  unlike  to  poison  was  the  effect  it  produced — equally  quick  in 
subduing  the  senses — for  what  Chakra  had  thus  administered  was  the 
juice  of  the  ealaltte,  the  most  powerful  of  narcotics. 

In  a  few  seconds  after  the  fluid  had  passed  her  lips,  the  face  of  thr» 
young  girl  became  overspread  with  a  death-like  pallor — all  through  her 
fraiae  fan  a  gentle,  tremulous  quivering,  that  bespoke  the  sudden  relax-a- 
tio.n  of  the  muscles.  Her  lithe  limbs  gave  way  beneath  her;  and  she 
wbiild  have  sunk  down  upon  the  floor,  but  for  the  supporting  arm  of  the 
weird  conjuror  who  had  caused  this  singular  collapse. 

Into  his  arms  she  sank — evidently  insensible — rwith  the  semblance 
rather  of  death  than  of  sleep  I 

"  Now,  den  !"  muttered  the  myal-man,  with  no  sign  of  astonishment  ai 
a  phenomenon  far  from  being  strange  to  him — since  it  was  to  that  same 
sleeping-spell  he  was  indebted  for  his  professional  reputation — "now, 
den,  ma  sweet  Lilly,  you  sleep  quiet  'nuff  'til  I  want  wake  you  'gain. 
Not  hya,  howsomedever.  You  muss  take  you  nap  in  de  open  air.  A 
muss  put  you  wha  de  ole  Jew  no  see  you,  or  maybe  he  want  you  fo'  him* 
seff.  Come  'long,  disaway  I" 

And  thus  idly  apostrophising  his  unconscious  victim,  he  lifted  her  in 
both  arms,  and  carried  her  out  of  the  hut. 

Outside  he  paused,  looking  around,  as  if  searching  for  some  place  in 
which  to  deposit  his  burden. 


348 

The  rooou  was  now  above  the  horizon,  and  her  beam*  were  beginning 
to  be  reflected  feebly,  even  through  the  sombre  solitude  of  the  Duppy's 
Hole.  A  clump  of  low  busheet,  growing  just  outside  the  canopy  of  the  cotton- 
tree,  appeared  to  offer  a  place  of  concealment ;  and  Chakra  was  proceed- 
Mig  towards  them,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  cascade  ;  and,  as  if  iuddeu- 
ly  changing  his  design,  he  turned  out  of  his  former  direction,  and  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  waterfall. 

On  getting  close  up  to  the  cliff,  over  which  the  stream  was  preoipitat 
ed,  he  paused  for  an  instant  on  the  edge  of  the  seething  cauldron  ;  then 
taking  a  fresh  hold  of  the  white,  wan  form  that  lay  helpless  over  his  arm, 
he  glided  behind  the  sheet  of  foaming  water,  and  suddenly  disappeared 
from  the  sight — like  a  river  demon  of  old,  bearing  off  to  his  subaqueous 
cavern  some  beautiful  victim,  whom  he  had  succeeded  in  enticing  to  hia 
haunt,  and  entrancing  into  a  slumber  more  fatal  thin  death. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  hideous  hunchback  reappeared  upon  the  bank, 
no  longer  embarrassed  by  his  burden  ;  and  hearing  the  whistle  once  more 
skirling  along  the  cliffs,  he  faced  down  stream,  and  walked  rapidly  in  th« 
direction  of  hit 


A   NEW   JOB   FOR    OHAKBA. 


OHAPTEK    CXIX. 
A   mnr   JOB   FOE   OHADUL 

CHAKBA,  on  reaching  the  crest  of  the  cliff,  found  Jacob  Jessroon  in  a 
•tate  of  impatience  bordering  upon  torment.  The  Jew  was  striding  back 
and  forth  among  the  trees,  at  intervals  striking  the  ground  with  his  um- 
brella, and  giving  utterance  to  his  favourite  exclamatory  phrases-  •"  Blesh 
my  BOU!  1"  and  "  Blesh  me !"  with  unusual  volubility. 

Now  and  then  also  could  be  heard  the  Teutonic  ejaculation,"  Ach  ("  prov- 
ing that  his  soul  was  under  the  influence  of  some  unpleasant  passion, 
that  was  vexing  him  even  to  torture. 

"  Wha's  de  trouble,  Massr  Jake  7"  inquired  the  myal-man,  scrambling 
over  the  edge  of  the  rockr  "  Dar's  something  go  wrong,  a  'pose  from  de 
way  you  had  soun'  de  signal  ?  A  hear  de  whissel  fo'  time." 

"  There  ish  something  wrong — a  great  deal  ish  wrong — slielp  me,  there 
iah  I  What  hash  kept  you,  Shakra?"  he  added,  with  a  show  of  vexation. 

44  Golly,  Massr  Jake,  a  war  asleep  ;  da's  wha  d'layed  me." 

M  Hew  then  hash  you  heard  the  signal  four  times  T" 

The  query  appeared  slightly  to  puzzle  Ghakra. 

44  0— a — de  signal  fo'  time,"  stammered  he,  after  a  pause  of  reflection. 
*  Wa,  ye  see,  a  hear  de  fuss  time  in  ma  sleep — den  de  second  time  ho 
wake  me — de  third  a  got  to  ma  feet ;  and  when  de  fo'th " 

The  Jow — either  satisfied  with  the  explanation,  or  too  much  hurried  to 
hear  the  end  of  it — interrupted  Chakra  at  "  de  fo'th." 

"It  ish  no  time  for  talk  when  Mount  Welcome  ish  in  flames.  You 
knowsh  that,  I  supposhe  ?" 

Ghakra  hesitated,  as  if  considering  whether  to  make  a  negative  or 
affirmative  reply. 

44  Of  course  you  knowsh  it.  I  needn't  haf  aahked.  Who  waah  H? 
4<to  ha«h  been  there.  Wash  it  him  ?" 


350  A   1TEW   JOB   FOR   CHAKBA. 

*  Ole  Adam  hab  a  hand  in  dat  ere  bizneas,  I  blieve.* 

"  You  knowsh  it,  Shakra ;  and  I  knowsh  another  that  hash  had  a  hand 
in  it.  That  ish  not  my  bishness,  nor  what  I  hash  come  here  about.  There 
ish  worse  than  that." 

"Wuss,  Massr  Jake?"  inquired  the  myal-man,  with  an  air  of  feigned 
surprise.  It  might  have  been  real.  "Wuss  dan  dat.  Hab  de  young 
man  no  come  back  ?" 

"  Ach!  that  ish  nothing.  There  ish  far  worse — there  ish  danger ;  sTielp 
jt)o,  there  ish  1" 

"  Danger  1"    Wha  from,  Massr  Jake  ?" 

"  Firsh  tell  me  where  ish  Adam  now  ?    I  want  him,  and  all  his  felligh," 

"  He  am  gone  back  to  de  mountains." 

"  Ach  1  Gone  back,  you  shay  ?  How  long  ish  he  gone  ?  Can  you  over- 
take him,  Shakra?" 

"  Possab'e  a  mout ;  dey  won't  trabbel  fass.  Dey  am  too  hebby  load  fo* 
dat.  But  wha'  fo'  you  want  ole  Adam,  Massr  Jake  ?" 

"  Bishness  of  the  greatesht  importance.  It  ish  life  and  death.  Blue 
Dick  hash  been  over  to  Mount  Welcome.  He  hash  heerd  slitrange  news 
— ach  1  terrible  news  I  A  messenger  who  came  in  from  the  Saffana  road 
hash  brought  the  newsh  of  many  dishagreeable  things — among  the  resht 
that  my  Spaniards  haf  been  made  prisoners  by  Cubina  and  this  ungrateful 
villain  of  a  Vochan.  They  are  accused  of  murdering  the  Cushtos.  Blesh 
my  soul  1" 

"  What  harm  dat  do  you,  Massr  Jake  ?    Wha's  de  danger  ?" 

"Danger!  Dosh  you  not  see  it,  Shakra  ?  If  theesh  hunters  ish  brought 
to  trial,  do  you  supposhe  they  would  hold  their  tongues?  S'help  me, no 
they  will  turn  sh tote's  efidence ;  and  thea  I  should  be  exshpoaed — 1 
arreshted— ruined  1  Oh  I  why  hash  I  ever  trushted  theesh  clumshy  felliah 
with  a  bishness  of  such  importance  ?" 

"  Dey  am  clumsy  fellas,  jess  as  you  say,  Massr  Jake." 

"  A«h  I  it  ish  too  late  to  shpeak  of  regretsh.  It  ish  necessary  to  take 
some  shteps  to  prevent  thish  terrible  mishfortune.  You  mueht  go  after 
Adam,  and  find  him  thish  instant — thish  instant,  Shakra." 

"  All  right,  Massr  Jake.  A  do  whatebber  you  bid  me,  nebber  fear.  A 
noon  track  up  Adam  ;  but  wha  d'ye  want  me  say  to  de  ole  nigga  when  a 
hab  f  oun'  'im  ?" 

*'  You  needn't  shay  anything — only  bring  him  back  with  you  to  the 
Shumbe  Rock.  I  will  wait  there  for  you  till  you  come.  Don't  keep  me 
long  in  sushpense,  Shakra.  Make  all  the  shpeed  in  your  power.  If  you 
don't  get  back  before  sunrishe  all  will  bo  loshtl  I'll  be  ruined — I  will 
8 'help  me !" 

"  Nebba  fear,  Massr  Jake,  i  woan  lose  a  minnit.  A  doan  tink  dat  ere 
ole  nigga's  got  far  'way  jess  yet  A  soon  obortake  'im.  A  go  atter  him 
at  once.  Whugh!" 

As  Chakra  uttered  the  exclamation,  ho  turned  on  his  heel,  and  waa 
iLV)ut  to  start  up  the  mountain,  in  the  direction  of  the  Jumbe  Rock,  near 
which  he  would  have  to  pass  on  his  way  towards  the  haunt  of  the  black 
robbers. 

"  Shtay  I"  cried  the  Jew, "  I'sho  going  with  ycu  ash  far  ash  the  Shumbe 
Rock.  I  may  ash  well  wait  tht-ro  ash  anywhere  elshe.  It  ish  no  ushw 


A  NEW  JOB   FOB   CHAKBA.  351 

my  going  home  now.  S'help  rne  !  I  cannot  resht  till  tliish  thing  ish  set- 
tled. And  now,  when  I  thinksh  oi  it,  you  may  ash  well  let  Adam  know 
for  what  he  ish  wanted — so  ash  he  may  come  prepared .  Say  to  him  he 
ish  to  go  ehtraight  to  Mount  Welcome — that  ish,  where  it  ushed  to  be, 
Hesh  not  to  show  hishself  there,  but  prosheed  along  the  road,  till  he 
meets  the  Cushtos'  body,  and  them  that  ish  with  it  Then  he  ish  to  find 
some  way  to  rescue  the  Shpaniards,  an*  let  them  eshcape  to  me.  Ton 
musht  go  along  with  Adam  and  hish  men,  elshe  they  may  shpoil  all.  He 
mush  bring  hish  fellish  well  armed  ;  you  may  stand  in  need  of  them  all. 
The  messenger  said  there  were  some  negroes  from  the  eshtate  of  Content. 
Theesh  won't  signify.  They  will  all  run  away  ash  soon  as  you  show 
yourselves  ;  but  the  others  may  be  inclined  to  make  fight.  There  ish 
Cubina,  and  the  young  raschcal  of  an  Englishman,  besides  that  giant 
Quaco,  and  the  messenger  hishself.  You  thinksh  you  can  manage  them, 
Shakra?" 

"  Sure  ob  dat" 

"  You  musht  take  them  by  an  ambushcade." 

"  P'raps  we  kill  some  o'  dem." 

"  Ash  many  ash  you  like.    Only  make  shure  to  get  the  Shpaniards  off." 

"Be  no  great  harm  to  kill  dern  too — atter  de  fool  dey.hab  made  ob 
demselves,  lettin'  dem  fellas  take  urn  pris'ner  dat  a  way.  Whughl" 

"  No,  no,  goot  Shakra ! — wo  mushn't  kill  our  friendsh — we  may  need 
them  again.  You  may  prornish  Adam  goot  pay  for  the  shob.  I  don't  care 
'or  the  cosht,  so  long  as  it  ish  clefierly  done." 

"  All  right,  Massr  Jake  ;  leab  dat  ta  me  an'  Adam.  We  do  de  ting  cleb- 
berly  'nuf,  I'se  be  boun'." 

And  with  this  assurance  Chakra  strode  off  up  the  mountain,  the 
having  set  the  example  by  starting  forward  in  advance  of  him. 


DEAD   OR   ASLEEP. 


CHAPTER    CODt 

OBAD      OB      A  8  L  «  •  F  T 

On  beholding  what  he  believed  to  be  the  dead  body  of  hia  cousin,  the 
grief  of  Herbert  Vaughan  proclaimed  itself  in  a  wild  cry — in  tones  of 
the  bitterest  agony.  He  flung  his  gun  upon  the  rock — knelt  down  by 
the  side  of  the  corpse — raised  her  head  upon  his  arm,  and  gazing  upon 
that  face,  in  death  beautiful  as  ever,  drew  it  nearer  to  his  own,  kissed 
the  cold  unconscious  lips — kissed  them  again  and  again,  as  though  he  had 
hopes  that  the  warmth  of  his  love  might  re-animate  the  fair  form  over 
which  he  was  bending. 

For  some  time  his  frenzied  caresses  were  continued — their  fervour  un- 
checked by  the  presence  of  his  rude  companions  who  stood  around.  Re- 
specting tiie  sanctity  of  his  grief,  all  observed  a  solemn  silence.  Nor 
word  nor  sound  escaped  the  lips  of  any  one.  Sobs  alone  proceeded  from 
Cubina.  The  Maroon  had  also  cause  to  sorrow  at  that  sad  spectacle—- 
but these  were  not  heard.  They  were  drowned  by  a  more  powerful 
voice — the  melancholy  monotone  of  the  cataract — that  had  been  speaking 
incessantly  since  the  creation  of  the  world. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  heart  of  Herbert  consented  to  his  discon-  \ 
tinuing  these  cold  but  sweet  kisses — the  first  he  had  ever  had — the  last 
he  was  destined  to  have  from  those  pale  lips ;  long  before  he  could  with- 
draw his  supporting  arm  from  beneath  lhat  beautiful  head,  whose  shining 
tresses  lay  dishevelled  along  the  rock. 

The  torch  held  in  the  hands  of  Cubina  was  burning  to  its  base.  Onlj 
when  warned  by  its  flickering  light,  did  the  chief  mourner  rise  one* 
more  to  his  feet ;  and  then,  making  a  feeble  signal  to  those  who  stood 
wound,  he  moved  in  solemn  silence  towards  the  entrance  of  the  grotto. 

His  gesture  was  understood,  and  promptly  obeyed.  By  the  authority 
ef  his  greater  grief  he  had  become  master  of  the  mournful  oeremonieft 
BOW  to  be  observed. 

The  Maroons,  quietly  crossing  their  arras  under  the  inanimate  fond 


DEAD    OB    ASLEEF.  353 

raised  it  from  the  rock ;  and  following  him,  who  had  given  them  their 
silent  direction,  they  bore  it  to  the  hut— there  placing  it  upon  the  cane 
couch.  With  instinctive  delicacy  all  retired  upon  the  completion  of  their 
task,  leaving  Herbert  and  Cubina  alone  with  the  body. 

An  interval  elapsed  before  either  essayed  to  speak.  Both  were  \mdei 
the  influence  of  a  profound  grief,  that  almost  stiffled  reflection.  Cubina 
was  the  first  to  have  other  thoughts,  and  to  give  expression  to  them. 

"  Santa  Virgen  /"  said  he,  in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion,  "  I  know  not 
how  she  has  died,  unless  the  sight  of  Ghakra  has  killed  her.  It  was 
enough  to  have  done  it." 

This  suggestive  speech  received  no  other  answer  than  a  groan. 

"  If  the  monster,"  continued  the  Maroon,  "  has  used  other  violence,  1  * 
see  no  trace  of  it    There  is  no  wound — no  appearance  of  anything  that 
Bhould  have  produced  death.    Poor  young  creature  I — there's  something 
dark  insiafc  her  lips — but  it's  not  blood " 

"  0  God  1"  cried  Herbert,  interrupting  the  speaker  with  a  fresh  parox- 
ysm of  grief.  "  Two  corpses  to  bo  carried  home  to  the  same  house — 
father  and  daughter — on  the  same  day — in  the  same  hour :  both  the 
victims  of  villany.  0  God  I" 

"  Both  victims  of  the  same  villain,  I  have  my  belief,"  rejoined  Cubina. 
•*  The  same  hand  that  laid  low  the  Gustos,  if  I  mistake  not,  has  been  at 
the  bottom  of  this  horrible  crime.  Chakra  is  but  the  weapon.  Another 
has  dealt  the  blow — you  know  who,  Master  Vaughan  ?" 

Herbert  was  hindered  from  making  reply.  A  dark  form  appearing  10 
the  door,  distracted  the  attention  of  both  from  the  theme  of  their  con- 
versation. 

Quaco  had  heard  the  melancholy  tidings :  and,  relieved  from  his  duty 
by  the  canoe,  had  hurried  back  to  the  hut,  he  it  was  who  now  appeared 
io  the  doorway,  filling  it  from  post  to  post— -from  step  to  Untie. 

Neither  his  chief  nor  Herbert  offered  any  remark.  Quaco's  presenct 
did  not  surprise  them.  It  was  natural  he  should  come  to  the  hut — if 
only  to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  Weighted  with  their  sorrow,  neither  took 
any  notice  of  his  arrival,  nor  of  his  movements  after  he  had  entered  th« 
hut — which  he  did  without  waiting  to  be  invited. 

Having  stepped  inside,  the  colossus  stood  for  some  moments  by  th« 
couch,  gazing  down  upon  the  sweet,  silent  face.  Even  on  his  featuret 
was  depicted  an  expression  of  sorrow. 

Gradually  this  became  more  subdued ;  or  rather  appeared  to  undergo 
a  total  change — slowly  but  surely  altering  to  an  expression  of  cheerful 
ness. 

Slight  at  first,  and  imperceptible  on  account  of  the  large  scale  upon 
which  Quaco's  features  were  formed,  the  expression  was  every  moment 
becoming  more  pronounced  ;  until  at  length  it  attracted  the  notice  of  tha 
others,  notwithstanding  the  abstraction  cause  by  their  poignant  grief. 

Both  observed  it  at  the  same  instant,  and  to  both  it  caused  a  feeling  oJ 
annoyance — amounting  almost  to  indignation. 

"  Lieutenant,"  said  Cubina,  addressing  his  subaltern  in  a  tone  of  re- 
proach, "  it  is  not  exactly  the  time  for  being  gay.  May  I  ask  you  what 
is  making  you  smile,  while  others  around  you  are  overwhelmed  with 
aorrow  ?" 

cappen,"  rejo&f4  ty»co,"I  can't  §99  what  yar  all 


354  DEAD   OR   ASLEEP. 

bout.    Can't  be  the  Gustos  :  since,  sartinly,  you've  got  over  grievin1  for 
him  long  afore  this  ?" 

The  reply — grotesque  in  character,  and  almost  jovial  in  the  manner  of 
ite  delivery — could  not  fail  still  further  to  astonish  those  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  Both  started  on  hearing  it ;  and  for  some-moments  bent  their 
eyes  on  the  speaker  in  an  expression  of  wonder,  mingled  with  indigna- 
tion. 

Had  Quaco  gone  mad  T 

\  "  In  the  presence  of  death,  fiir,"  said  the  young  Maroon  captain,  direct- 
ing a  severe  glance  upon  his  lieutenant,  "  you  might  lay  aside  that  merry 
mood,  too  common  with  you.  It  ill  becomes  you " 

"  Death,  do  you  say,  cappen  ?"  interrupted  Quaco  :  "  who's  gone  dead 
here  ?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  abrupt  interrogatory.  Those  to  whom  it 
was  addressed  were  too  much  taken  by  surprise,  to  say  a  word. 

"  If  you  mean  the  young  buckra  lady,"  continued  Quaco,  "  I'd  give  all 
the  barbacued  hog  I  ever  owned  nebber  to  be  more  dead  than  she  jess 
now.  Dead  i'deed  ?  Nonsense  dat :  she  only  sleep  I" 

Herbert  and  Cubina  started  from  their  seats,  each  uttering  a  cry  of 
astonishment,  in  which  might  be  detected  the  accents  of  hope. 

"  Who's  got  a  piece  o'  lookin'-glass  ?"  continued  Quaco,  turning  hie 
glance  interrogatively  around  the  hut.  "  Good !"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
sparkle  of  a  piece  of  broken  mirror  came  under  his  eye ;  "  here's  the 
thing  itself!" 

"  Now,  lookee  hyar  1"  resumed  he,  taking  the  bit  of  glass  from  the 
place  where  it  had  been  deposited,  and  rubbing  its  surface  with  a  piece 
of  rag :  "you  see  thar's  ne'er  a  speck  upon  it  V 

The  others,  still  held  silent  by  surprise,  made  answer  only  by  nodding 
their  assent. 

"  Wai,  now,"  continued  Quaco,  "  watch  me  a  bit  1" 

Placing  the  smooth  surface  of  the  mirror  to  the  mute  lips,  h  e  held  it 
there  for  a  minute  or  more  ;  and  then  turning,  he  raised  it  up,  and  held 
it  close  to  the  light  of  the  lamp. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  cried,  triumphantly  pointing  to  a  white  filmy  bloom  that 
appeared  upon  the  glass,  partially  obscuring  its  sheen,  "  that's  her  breath  I 
She  no  gone  dead,  else  how  she  hab  breath  ?" 

His  listeners  were  too  excited  to  make  reply.  Only  by  exclamations 
did  they  signify  their  assent  to  the  truth  of  his  hypothesis. 

"  Ho  1"  exclaimed  Quaco,  suddenly  dropping  the  bit  of  glass,  and 
clutching  hold  of  a  phial  that  lay  upon  the  floor — now  for  the  first  time 
noticed. 

"  What  we  got  here  ?"  continued  he,  drawing  the  cork  with  his  teeth, 
and  thrusting  the  neck  up  his  wide  nostril.  "  Sleepin'  draugh !  I  thought 
so.  So  this  is  the  spell  that's  put  the  young  buckra  lady  to  rest.  Well, 
there's  another  that'll  wake  her,  if  I  can  only  find  it.  It's  boun'  be  hya, 
somewheres  about;  and  if  I  can  only  get  my  claws  on  it,  I'll  make  this 
hya  young  creetur'  talk  to  ye  in  less  than  ten  minutes. ' 

So  saying,  the  colossus  commenced  searching  around  the  hut,  looking 
into  the  numerous  chinks  and  'vya;  ?;  *  s  with  whiok  botfr  walls  and  rooi 
irere  provided* 


QUACO  TURNED   MYAL-MAK.  $55 

Rebtrained  by  surprise,  blended  with  hopofui  anticipation,  neither 
Herbert  nor  Cubina  offered  to  interrupt  his  actions,  by  word  or  gesture. 
Both  remained  in  their  respective  places— silently  but  anxiously  awaiting 
the  event 


CHAFFER   CXXL 

QUACO    TURNED    VTAIs-MAX. 


To  Herbert  Vaughan  it  was  a  moment  of  tumultuous  emotions— joy 
springing  up  in  the  midst  of  utter  woe.  That  his  cousin  still  breathed 
he  could  not  doubt :  that  she  lived  he  was  only  too  ready  to  believe. 
Though  mystified  beyond  measure  by  what  appeared  the  perfect  semb- 
lance of  death,  the  words  of  Quaco  had  given  him  some  clue  to  a  re? 
markable  mystery — at  the  same  time  inspiring  him  with  the  belief  that 
in  that  motionless  form  the  soul  was  yet  present.  Her  breathing  upon 
the  mirror  had  made  him  sure  of  it. 

The  mystery  to  which  Quaco's  speeches  had  introduced  him,  was  that 
of  myalism.  In  this  the  Maroon  lieutenant  claimed  to  have  skill  almost 
equalling  the  regular  professors  of  the  art.  In  addition  to  being  Cubina's 
deputy  on  all  important  occasions,  Quaco  was  the  doctor  of  the  band  ; 
aud  in  his  medical  experience  he  had  picked  up  some  knowledge  of  the 
system  of  Obeah — more  especially  of  the  trick  by  which,  in  the  belief  of 
the  ignorant,  a  dead  body  can  be  brought  to  life  again — that  dread  secret 
of  the  Coromautee  charlatan,  known  hi  tne  West  Indies  as  myalism. 

"  Only  a  sleep  spell,"  said  Quaco,  still  continuing  his  search  ;  "  nothin' 
more  than  tliat — a  draught  given  her  by  the  myal-doctor.  I  know  it 
well  enough  ;  and  I  know's  what'll  make  all  right  again  ;  though  'ithout 
that  she'd  a  come  to  of  herself.  A — ha  1  hyar  it  is  1  hyar's  tho  anec- 
dote 1" 

A  small  bottle  glistened  between  his  fingers  ;  which  in  Another  instant 
W«8  uncorked  aj»4  brought  in  Qpnfc^ct  \yitU  bis  uostnlfl. 


356  QTJACO  TTTKNED   MYAL-MAW. 

"  Yes,  die  is  de  stuff  that's  a'goin'  to  countrack  that  spell.  In 
ten  minutes'  time  you  soe  her  wake  up,  brisk  as  ebber  she  been  in  her 
life.  Now,  young  master,  if  you  jess  hold  up  the  young  lady's  head  while 
I  spill  a  drop  or  two  down  her  throat.  It  must  go  down  to  do  any  good." 

Herbert,  with  joyful  willingness,  obeyed  the  request ;  and  the  bea  uti* 
ful  head  once  more  received  the  support  of  his  arm. 

Quaco,  with  all  the  gentleness  of  which  his  huge,  ccarse  fingers  wore 
capable,  parted  the  pale  lips ;  and  inserting  the  neck  of  the  phial,  poured 
out  a  portion  of  its  contents  into  the  mouth  of  the  sleeper.    This  done, 
he  held  the  bottle  for  some  minutes  to  her  nostrils ;  and  then,  laying  it  ? 
aside,  he  commenced  chafing  her  hands  between  his  own  broad,  corru  ^ 
gated  palms. 

With  heart  wildly  beating,  and  eyes  alternately  scanning  the  face  of 
Quaco  and  the  countenance  ef  the  silent  sleeper,  Herbert  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  his  terrible  solicitude. 

It  would  have  been  far  more  terrible,  but  for  the  confident  manner  of 
the  negro,  and  the  triumphant  tone  in  which  he  predicted  the  result. 

Scarce  five  minutes  had  elapsed  from  the  time  -of  administering  thf 
antidote — to  Herbert  they  appeared  fifty — when  the  bosom  of  the  sleepei 
was  seen  to  swell  upward  ;  at  the  same  time  that  a  sigh,  just  audible, 
escaped  from  her  lips  1 

Herbert  could  no  longer  restrain  his  emotions.    With  a  cry  of  supreme 

a'oy,  he  bent  his  face  nearer  to  that  of  the  young  girl,  and  pressed  hia 
ps  to  hers,  at  the  same  time  gently  murmuring  her  name. 

"  Be  quiet,  young  master  1"  cautioned  Quaco,  "  else  you  may  keep  her 
longer  from  wakin'  up.  Hab  patience.  Leave  the  annecdote  to  do  its 
work.  Tant  a  goin'  to  be  verry  long." 

Herbert,  thus  counselled,  resumed  his  former  attitude  ;  and  remained 
silently  but  earnestly  gazing  upon  the  beautiful  face,  already  showing 
signs  of  re-animation. 

As  Quaco  had  predicted,  the  "  anecdote"  was  not  long  in  manifesting 
its  effects.  The  bosom  of  the  young  girl  began  to  rise  and  fall  in  quick 
spasmodic  motion,  showing  that  respiration  was  struggling  to  return  ; 
while,  at  shorter  intervals,  sighs  escaped  her,  audible  even  amidst  the 
sounds,  so  similar,  heard  from  without. 

Gradually  the  undulations  of  the  chest  became  more  regular  and  pic^ 
longod,  and  the  lips  moved  in  soft  murmuring — as  when  one  is  endeav- 
ouring to  hold  converse  in  a  dream ! 

Each  instant  these  utterances  became  more  distinct.  Words  could  bt  , 
distinguished  ;  and,  among  others,  one  that  filled  the  heart  of  Herbert  * 
with  happiness  indescribmble^-his  own  name ! 

Despite  the  prudent  co.unsel  of  Quaco,  he  could  no  longer  restrain 
himself ;  but  once  more  imprinting  a  fervent  kiss  upon  the  lips  of  nil 
beloved  cousin,  responded  to  her  muttering  by  loudly  pronouncing  her 
name,  ikmpled  \viih  words  of  love  and  exclamations  of  encouragement. 

As  if  his  voice  had  broken  the  charm — dispelling  the  morphine  from 
out  her  veins — the  eyes  of  the  young  girl  all  at  once  opened. 

The  long,  crescenfc-shaped  lashes  displayed  through  their  parting  those 
orbs  of  lovely  light,  brown  as  the-  berrv  of  the  theobroma,  and  soft  as  the 
eyes  of  a  dove, 


QTIACO  TtfBNED   MYAL  MAN.  857 

At  first  their  expression  was  dreamy — unconscious-— as  J  they  shone 
without  seeing — looked  without  recognising. 

Gradually  this  appearance  became  changed.  The  spark  of  recognition 
betrayed  itself  fast  spreading  over  pupil  and  iris — until  at  length,  it 
kindled  into  the  full  flame  of  consciousness.  . 

Close  to  hers  was  the  face  of  which  she  had  been  dreaming.  Looking 
into  hers  were  those  eyes  she  had  beheld  in  her  sleep,  and  with  that 
name  glance  with  which,  in  her  waking  hours,  they  had  once  regarded 
•  her — that  glance  so  fondly  remembered  ! 

Again  was  it  fixed  upon  her  ;  but  no  longer  in  silence,  and  unexplained. 
Now  it  was  accompanied  by  words  of  love — by  phrases  of  endearment — 
spoken  with  all  the  wild  abandon  of  an  impassioned  heart. 

"  Herbert,  cousin  1"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  speech  was  restored  to 
her.  It  is  you  ?  where  am  I  ?  No  matter  since  you  are  by  me.  It  ia 
your  arm  that  is  around  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  dearest  cousin — never  more  to  part  from  this  sweet  embrace. 
Oh,  speak  to  me  1  Tell  me  that  you  live  1" 

"  Live  1  Ah  1  you  thought  me  dead  ?  I  thought  so  myself.  That 
horrid  monster !  He  is  gone  ?  I  see  him  not  hdre  I  Oh !  I  am  saved  1 
It  is  you,  Herbert  ?  you  who  have  delivered  me  from  worse  than  death  ?" 

*'  Mine  is  not  the  merit,  cousin.  This  brave  man  by  my  side — it  is  he 
to  whom  we  are  both  indebted  for  this  deliverance." 

"  Cubinal  and  Tola? — poor  Tola?  She,  too,  has  escaped?  Oh  I  it  is  a 
fearful  thing.  I  cannot  comprehend " 

"  Dearest  cousin !  think  not  of  it  now.  In  time  you  shall  understand 
all.  Know  that  you  are  safe — that  all  danger  is  past." 

"  My  poor  father  1  if  he  knew — Chakra  alive — that  fearful  monster !" 

Herbert  was  silent,  Cubina,  at  the  same  time,  withdrawing  from  th« 
hut  to  give  some  orders  to  his  followers. 

"Ah,  cousin,  what  is  that  upon  your  breast?"  inquired  the  young 
girl,  innocently  touching  the  object  with  her  fingers.  "  Is  it  not  the 
ribbon  you  took  from  my  purse  ?  Have  you  been  wearing  it  all  this 
time  ?" 

"  Ever  since  that  hour  I    Oh,  Kate,  no  longer  can  I  conceal  the  truth. 

I  love  you  1  I  love  you  I  I  have  heard .  But  tell  me  dearest  cousin! — 

with  your  own  lips  declare  it — do  you  return  my  love  ?" 

"Idol    Idol" 

Once  more  Herbert  kissed  the  lips  that  had  given  utterance  to  tbt 
Ui  rilling  declaration. 

In  that  kiss  two  loving  souls  were  sealed  for  ever  I 


i 

CHAPTER  CXXH. 

THE  RESCUE. 

OK  starting  off  from  tlie  Duppy'i  Hole  it  had  bee:  the  intention  of  1h« 
Jew  to  wait  by  the  base  of  the  Jumfee  Rock  for  the  return  of  Ghakra 
with  the  robbers.  Before  arriving  at  the  rock,  a  better  plan  presented 
itself. 

In  the  absence  of  Chakra — which  might  be  a  prolonged  one — it  occur- 
red to  him  that  he  might  profitably  pass  the  interval  of  time  by  making 
a  reconnoissance  of  Mount  Welcome  and  its  precincts. 

Before  parting  from  Chakra,  therefore,  a  new  place  of  rendezvous  was 
arranged  between  them — at  a  particular  place  upon  the  mountain  slope, 
only  a  short  distance  from  the  rear  of  the  garden. 

This  point  being  settled,  Chakra  continued  on  after  the  home-returning 
bandits  ;  while  his  fellow  conspirator,  facing  down  the  mountain,  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome. 

He  soon  came  upon  the  path  habitually  used  in  the  ascent  and  descent 
ot  the  mountain.    Only  for  a  short  distance  did  he  follow  it,  however. | 
He  conjectured  that  a  pursuit  would  be  already  set  on  foot ;  and,  appr«4 
hensive  of  encountering  the  pursuers,  he  preferred  making  his  approach 
to  the  house  by  working  his  way  through  the  woods,  where  no  path  ex- 
isted.   By  this  means  he  should  advance  more  slowly,  but  with  greater 
safety. 

Favoured  by  an  occasional  flash  from  the  smouldering  fires---geen  at 
intervals  through  the  trees — he  had  no  difficulty  in  guiding  himself  in 
the  right  direction ;  and  in  due  tune  he  arrived  at  the  rearward  of  the 
garden. 

Crouching  behind  the  wall,  and  looking  cautiously  over  its  top,  he 
could  command  a  full  view  of  the  grounds — no  longer  containing  a  grand 
boose,  bat  only  a  smouldering  mass  of  half-consumed  timbers. 


RESCtTE.  359 

tliere  was  still  sufficient  flame  springing  tip  imidst  the  smoke  to  re- 
Teal  to  the  eyes  of  Jessuron  a  terrible  tableau. 

Under  the  light  could  be  seen  a  number  of  human  figures  grouped 
around  an  object  resembling  a  rude  bier.  On  this  lay  the  body  of  a 
white  man,  whose  ghastly  visage — ghastlier  under  the  glare  of  the  un- 
natural light — betokened  it  to  be  a  corpse. 

A  white  man  stood  beside  it,  bent  over  the  body,  and  looking  thought^ 
fully  on  the  face.  Jessuron  recognised  in  this  individual  the  overseei 
of  the  estate.  The  others  were  blacks — both  men  and  women — easily 
known  as  the  domestics  and  field  slaves  of  the  plantation. 

At  a  short  distance  from  these  was  another  group — smaller  in  indi- 
vidual numbers,  but  equally  conspicuous. 

Two  men  lay  along  the  grass,  in  an  attitude  that  showed  them  to  be  fast 
bound.  They  were  white  men  in  colonial  phraseology,  though  their 
complexions  of  dark  olive  were  but  a  shade  or  two  lighter  than  those  of 
the  negroes  who  surrounded  them.  Jessuron  easily  identified  them  as 
his  own  '  employes,'  the  Cuban  '  ca^adores.' 

Some  three  or  four  black  men  stood  around  them,  apparently  acting  as 
guards.  The  costume,  arms,  and  accoutrements  of  these  last~-but  quite 
as  much  their  bold,  upright  bearing — proclaimed  them  to  be  men  of  a 
different  caste  from  the  negroes  who  encompassed  the  corpse.  They 
were  the  Maroons  whom  Quaco  had  left  in  charge  of  tho  prisoners. 

As  soon  as  Jessuron  had  finished  making  these  observations,  he  re- 
turned to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  where  he  was  soon  joined  by  Chakra 
and  the  robbers.  The  latter,  on  their  homeward  route,  having  halted  for 
a  rest  not  far  beyond  the  Jurnbe  Rock,  were  there  ove;  taken  by  the  myal- 
man,  and  brought  instantaneously  back. 

The  report  of  Jessuron  was  delivered  to  Chakra,  who,  along  with  Adam 
and  his  followers,  advanced  to  the  garden  wall,  and  became  himself  a 
ipectator  of  the  scene  already  described. 

The  circumstances  suggested  the  necessity  of  immediate  action.  It 
was  evident  that  Cubina  and  the  main  body  of  the  Maroons  had  gone  off. 
in  pursuit  of  the  incendiaries  at  once.  No  account  was  made  of  the 
presence  of  the  plantation  negroes  ;  and  the  weak  guard  of  the  Maroons 
that  had  been  left  could  be  easily  overpowered. 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  Chakra  and  Adam,  acted  upon  almost  aa 
soon  as  conceived,  and  leaving  Jessuron  to  await  their  return,  they  and 
Hieir  followers  crept  forward  through  the  shrubbery  of  the  garden. 

A  volley  from  their  guns,  fired  from  an  ambush,  was  heard  shortly 
after.  It  caused  most  of  the  Maroon  guard  to  fall  dead  by  the  side  of 
their  prisoners,  at  the  same  time  putting  to  flight  the  people  of  the  plan- 
tation, with  their  overseer  at  their  head. 

Nothing  then  remained  but  to  release  the  captives  from  their  cords  ;  and 
this  being  readily  accomplished,  both  robbers  and  '  ca^adores  retreated 
up  the  mountain. 

On  nearing  the  Jumbe  Rock,  the  confederates  once  more  separated. 
Adam  and  his  followers  continued  on  towards  their  mountain  ho Jie,  white 
Chakra,  accompanied  by  the  Jew,  and  followed  by  Manuel  and  Andres, 
proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  Duppy's  Hole. 

It  wa«  the  design  of  Jessuron  that  the  two  Cubanos  should  remain  in 
•«&  asylwH — ae  guests  of  the  Coromantee — until  such  time  as  l*« 


360  DOWN  THE   MOtTNTAIN. 

might  find  an  opportunity  for  shipping  them  back  to  tho  tountry  whence 
they  had  come. 

Chakra's  consent  to  this  arrangement  had  not  yet  been  obtained,  and  it 
was  to  this  end  that  the  Jew  was  now  on  his  errand — for  the  second 
lime  that  night — to  the  sombre  solitude  of  the  Puppy's  Hole. 


CHAPTER    CXXm. 


OOWM     THl     MOUKTAIX 


THE  midnight  hour  had  passed  ere  the  lovers  forsook  the  solitude  of  the 
Duppy's  Hole. 

From  mingled  motives  Herbert  had  lingered  on  that  wild  spot.  He 
feared  the  dread  development  which  he  knew  must  take  place  on  their 
return  to  tho  Mount  Welcome.  What  a  terrible  blow  to  that  young 
bosom,  now  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  earth's  supreniest  happiness !  He 
knew  the  fatal  truth  could  not  long  be  concealed  ;  nevertheless,  he  was 
desirous  of  keeping  it  back  as  long  as  possible — at  least  until  his  cousin 
had  further  recovered  from  the  shock  which  her  spirit  had  that  night 
sustained. 

In  concert  with  Cubina,  he  had  spent  some  time  in  reflecting  how  this 
temporary  concealment  might  be  effected. 

Only  one  way  suggested  itself — to  conduct  his  cousin  to  the  house  of 
4li  e  overseer  ;  there  to  remain  until,  as  she  might  suppose,  her  father 
cculd  receive  the  news  of  the  conflagration  that  had  occurred,  and  re- 
turn home  again. 

The  young  girl  knew  that  the  mansion  wag  burnt  down.  Its  blaze  was 
before  her  eyes  when  they  ceased  to  see — lighting  her  ravisher  along 
the  forest  path.  The  roof  that  had  sheltered  her  childhood  was  a  ruin. 
She  knew  all  that. 

It  was  therefore  but  natural  that  a  temporary  home  should  be  sought 
elsewhere,  and  in  the  house  of  the  overseer.  She  could  have  no  BUS* 
jtioiom  of  any  design  in  their  taking  her  thither. 


DOWN  THE   MOUNTAIN.  361 

Neither  Herbert  nor  Cubina  knew  whether  the  corpse  of  the  Ctistoa 
had  yet  reached  its  destination.  Quaco,  on  hurriedly  parting  with  it,  had 
given  no  orders,  either  to  the  bearers  or  the  Maroons  left  in  charge  of 
the  two  prisoners,  to  move  forward. 

The  funeral  '  cortege'  might  still  be  upon  the  road,  where  it  had  been 
left  by  Herbert  and  Cubina. 

If  so,  it  might  be  possible  for  them  to  pass  the  ruined  dwelling,  and 
reach  the  house  of  the  overseer,  without  any  news  of  the  assassination 
being  communicated  to  her — the  only  one  likely  to  be  profoundly  affected 
by  that  dread  disaster. 

Once  under  the  roof  of  Mr.  Trusty,  means  could  be  taken  to  keep 
silent  the  tongmes  of  those  who  should  be  brought  in  contact  with  her. 

Such  was  the  scheme,  hastily  concerted  between  Herbert  and  Cubina ; 
aoi  which  they  now  proceeded  to  execute,  by  conducting  the  young 
creole  out  of  toe  Duppy's  Hole  and  commencing  their  descent  towards 
the  valley  of  Mount  Welcome. 

Only  the  two  accompanied  her.  The  Maroons,  under  their  lieutenant, 
Quaco,  remained  behind ;  and  for  an  important  purpose,  the  capturing 
of  Chakra. 

Cubina  would  himself  have  stayed ;  but  for  a  certain  impatience  once 
more  to  enjoy  the  company  of  his  beloved  Tola,  who  had  been  left 
among  the  other  domestics  of  the  desolated  establishment. 

The  Maroon  captain  had  perfect  confidence — both  in  the  skill  of  his 
lieutenant,  and  the  courage  of  his  followers.  He  could  trust  them  for 
an  afiair  like  this  ;  and  as  he  parted  from  the  Duppy's  Hole  he  had  very 
little  doubt  that  by  daybreak,  or  perhaps  before  that  time,  Chakra  wotJd 
be  the  captive  of  Quaco. 

Slowly  Herbert  and  his  cousin  moved  down  the  mountain.  The  moon, 
now  shining  sweetly  upon  the  perfumed  path,  favoured  their  descent ; 
but  there  was  no  need — no  desire  for  haste.  Cubina  kept  ahead,  to 
•ecure  them  from  surprise  or  danger.  The  young  girl  walked  side  by 
•ide  with  Herbert,  leaning  upon  his^arm — that  strong  arm,  once  so  freely 
and  affectionately  promised.  The  time  had  arrived  when  the  offer  wag 
accepted  and  welcomed — a  proud  time  for  the  young  Englishman — a 
happy  time,  as  he  walked  on  thrilled  by  the  touch  of  that  round  arm 
softly  pressing  his  own — at  times  more  heavily  leaning  upon  him,  rot 
from  any  physical  weakness  on  the  part  of  his  companion,  but  rather  ^ut 
wf  the  pure  fondness  of  her  affection. 

The  strength  of  the  young  creole  had  become  almost  restored — the 
effects  of  the  narcotic  having  completely  disappeared.  She  had  also  re- 
covered trom  the  prostration  of  spirit  which  it  had  produced — perhaps 
all  the  sooner  from  the  cheering  presence  of  him  who  was  by  her  side. 

The  terrible  sufferings  she  had  endured  were  succeeded  by  a  happi- 
ness tranquil  and  profound.  She  now  knew  that  Herbert  loved  her  :  more 
than  once  within  the  hour  had  he  given  her  that  sweet  assurance. 

On  her  part  there  was  no  coyness — not  a  shadow  of  coquetry.  She 
had  responded  to  hie  vows  by  a  full,  free  surrender  of  her  heart. 

And  her  hand  ?     Was  it  still  free  ? 

Herbert  sought  an  answer  to  this  question  as  they  passed  onward — 
only  indirectly,  and  with  all  the  delicacy  that  circumstances  would  jpev 
•it 


DOWN  THE  MOTJHTAI&. 

Was  it  true  what  he  had  heard,  that  a  promise  had  been  given  te 
Smythje  ? 

With  downcast  eyes  the  young  girl  remained  for  some  momenta  with- 
out vouchsafing  any  reply.  Her  trembling  arm  betrayed  the  painful 
struggle  that  was  agitating  her  bosom. 

Presently  the  storm  appeared  to  have  partially  subsided.  Her  featurea 
became  fixed,  as  if  she  had  resolved  upon  a  confession ;  and  in  a  firm, 
but  low  murmured  voice,  she  made  answer — 

"  A  promise  ?  yes,  Herbert,  wrung  from  me  in  my  darkest  hour — then 
when  I  thought  you  cared  not  for  me — -when  I  heard  that  you  also  lia>! 
made  such  promise — to  another.  Oh,  Herbert  1  oh,  cousin  !  believe  me 
it  was  against  my  will ;  it  was  forced  from  me  by  threats,  by  appeals — " 

"  Then  it  is  not  binding  !"  eagerly  interrupted  the  lover.  "  There  wan 
no  oath — no  betrothal  between  you  ?  Even  if  there  had  been " 

"  Even  if  there  had  been  1"  cried  the  young  girl  repeating  his  words, 
the  hot  Creole  blood  mounting  suddenly  to  her  cheeks,  while  her  eyes  ex- 
pressed a  certain  determination.  "  There  was  no  oath.  Even  if  there 
had  been,  it  could  no  longer  bind  me.  No  1  After  what  has  occurred 
this  night — in  the  hour  of  danger  deserted  by  him — no,  no  1  After  that 
I  could  never  consent  to  be  the  wife  of  Mr.  Smythje.  Rather  suffer  the 
charge  of  perjury,  from  which  my  own  conscience  would  absolve  me, 
than  to  fulfil  that  promise.  Rather  shall  I  submit  to  the  disinheritance 
which, my  father  threatens,  and  which  upon  his  return  he  will  doubtless 
execute.  Yes,  death  itself,  rather  than  become  the  wife  of  a  coward !" 

"  How  little  danger  of  that  disinheritance  I"  thought  Herbert.    "  How 
shall  I  tell  the  fearful  tidings  ?    How  reveal  to  her  that  she  is  at  this 
moment  the  mistress  of  Mount  Welcome  ?    Not  yet — not  yet  1" 
^  For  a  while  the  young  man  remained  silent,  scarce  knowing  how  to 
continue  the  conversation. 

She  noticed  his  air  of  thoughtful  abstraction.  It  guided  her  to  un- 
pleasant conjectures. 

"  CousiL  1  are  you  angry  with  me  for  what  I  have  said  I    Do  you  blame 

M 

mQ     i  «•!!. 

"No— m.  1"  cried  Herbert,  impressively :  "far  from  it.    By  the  con- 
duct of  this  man — woman,  I  should  call  him.  were  it  not  for  disgracing 
the  name — by  his  behaviour  to  you,  you  would  be  released  from  the 
most  solemn  of  oaths— much  more  a  mere  promise  given  against  you.  { 
will.    It  was  not  of  that  I  was  thinking. ' 

"Of  what,  Herbert?" 

As  she  put  this  question,  she  leant  towards  him,  and  gazed  into  hii 
eyes  with  a  look  of  troubled  inquiry. 

The  young  man  was  puzzled  for  a  reply.  His  thoughtful  silence  was 
evidently  causing  her  uneasiness  that  each  moment  increased.  Her 
glances  betokened  some  painful  suspicion. 

She  did  not  wait  for  his  answer ;  but,  in  a  voice  that  trembled,  put  the 
Additional  interrogative — 

"  Have  you  made  a  promise  V 

«  To  whom  ?" 

u  Oh,  Herbert !  do  not  ask  me  to  pronounce  the  name,  ion  mum 
enow  to  whom  I  aJlude." 


DOWN   TfiE   MOtJNfAItf. 

Herbert  was  relieved  by  the  interrogator j.  It  changed  the  cuirent  of 
bis  thoughts,  at  the  same  time  giving  him  a  cue  for  something  to  say. 

"  Ha  1  ha  I"  laughed  he ;  "I  think,  cousin,  I  comprehend  you.  A 
promise,  indeed  1  Nothing  of  the  sort,  I  assure  you;  though,  since  you 
nave  been  good  enough  to  make  confession,  neither  shall  I  conceal  what 
has  passed  between  her  to  whom  you  refer  and  myself.  There  was  no 
love  between  us — at  least,  none  upon  my  side,  I  can  assure  you,  cousin. 
But,  I  will  confess  that,  stung  by  what  I  fancied  was  your  coldness  to  me 
• — misled  by  a  thousand  reports,  now  happily  found  to  be  false — I  had 
nearly  committed  myself  to  the  speaking  of  a  word  which  no  doubt  I 
should  have  rued  throughout  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  Thank  fortune ! 
circumstances  have  saved  me — saved  us  both,  may  I  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  happiness  1  Herbert — Herbert  1  then  you  wifi  be  mine — mine 
only  ?" 

Yielding  to  the  promptings  of  an  all-absorbing  passion,  the  young 
Creole  gave  utterance  to  this  bold  interrogatory. 

"  Dearest  Kate  I"  replied  the  lover,  half  delirious  with  joy,  "  my  heart 
is  yours — all  yours.  My  hand — oh,  cousin,  I  scarce  dare  to  offer  it.  You 
are  rich — grand — and  I — I  poor — penniless — even  without  a  home  1" 

"  Alas !  Herbert,  you  know  not.  Were  I  rich — ten  times  as  rich  as 
you — believe  me,  you  would  be  welcome  to  all.  But  no.  Perhaps  I  may 
be  poor  as  yourself.  Ah  .me  1  you  do  not  know  ;  but  you  shall.  I  shall 
conceal  nothing.  Know,  then,  dearest  cousin,  that  my  mother  was  a 
quadroon,  and  I  am  only  a  mvstee.  I  cannot  inherit  my  father's  property 
except  by  will ;  and  not  even  that  till  an  act  is  obtained  from  the  Assem- 
bly. That  is  the  errand  upon  which  my  father  is  gone.  But  whether  he 
succeed  or  not  matters  not  now.  Too  surely  will  he  disinherit  me  ;  for 
never  shall  I  consent  to  become  the  wife  of  the  man  he  has  commanded 
me  to  marry — never  1" 

"Oh,  cousin  1"  cried  Herbert,  enraptured  by  the  emphatic  tone  in  which 
she  had  declared  her  determination  "  if  you  consent  to  become  mine,  I 
care  not  for  your  riches.  Your  heart  is  the  wealth  I  covet — that  will  b« 
enough  for  me.  What  matters  it  even  should  we  both  be  poor  ?  I  am 
young.  I  can  work.  I  can  strive.  We  may  yet  find  friends,  or,  if  no^ 
we  can  do  without  them.  Be  mine  1" 

"  Youri  for  any  fate  1— for  life,  Herbert !  for  life  I" 


•164  Alsr 


CHAPTER   CXXTV 


AH  OKPKAK. 


THCSB  earnest  utterances  of  love  exchanged  between  the  two  cousins 
were  suddenly  interrupted.  Sounds  of  woe  broke  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  and  in  the  same  place  as  before. 

They  had  arrived  within  view  of  what  was  once  the  mansion  of  Mount 
Welcome. 

Through  the  foliage  that  fringed  the  path,  they  could  see  glancing  some 
remnants  of  red  light,  here  and  there  flickering  into  a  faint  blaze.  Now 
and  then,  as  they  descended  the  slope,  they  had  heard  the  crash  of  fall- 
ing timbers,  as  they  gave  way  under  the  wasting  fire. 

A  murmur  of  human  voices,  too,  had  reached  their  ears  ;  but  only  as 
of  men  engaged  in  an  ordinary  conversation  ;  or,  at  »11  events,  not  exhibi- 
ting excitement  beyond  what  might  be  expected  at  the  finale  of  such  a 
»oene  as  had  there  transpired. 

All  at  once  abruptly  breaking  upon  this  comparative  tranquillity — at 
the  same  time  interrupting  the  dialogue  of  the  lovers — were  heard  ut- 
terances of  a  far  different  import :  the  cries  of  men,  the  screaming  of 
women,  shots  and  loud  shouting  1 

All  these  sounds  appeared  to  proceed  from  the  spot  that  but  a  few 
hours  bofore  had  echoed  to  the  clangour  of  a  chorus  equally  diabolical  in 
its  accents. 

Cubina,  who  had  been  moving  some  paces  in  advance,  sprang  instant!} 
back  upon  the  path ;  and  with  troubled  look  stopped  in  front  of  the 
lovers. 


AN  ORPHAN.  36-.' 

"What  can  it  mean ?"  asked  Herbert,  equally  showing  signs  of  appre 
hension. 

"  The  robbers  1  Master  Vaughan  1  They  have  returned  ;  but  for  whan; 
purpose  I  cannot  guess.  It  must  be  they.  I  know  that  voice,  louder  than 
the  rest  Do  you  hear  it  ?  Tis  the  voice  of  the  brigand,  Adam !  Crambo! 
I'll  silence  it  some  day  ere  long — maybe,  this  very  night.  Hark !  there's 
another,  still  louder  and  wilder.  H»  I  that,  too,  I  can  distinguish.  lt'« 
the  hellish  shriek  of  Ghakra  1" 

u  But  why  should  they  have  come  again  ?  They  took  everything  &  roe- 
ber  would  care  for?  What  can  have  brought  them  back?  There  ii 
nothing " 

"  There  «  /"  cried  Cubina,  with  a  quick  gesture,  as  though  the  solution 
had  just  then  presented  itself  to  his  mind.  "  There  is  Yolaf 

As  he  said  this  he  faced  around,  as  if  about  to  rush  towards  the  fray, 
still  strepitant — its  noise  rather  on  the  increase. 

For  an  instant  he  appeared  to  be  undecided  ;  though  not  from  any  fed* 
of  going  forward. 

No,  it  was  another  thought  that  had  caused  that  indecision :  which  wig 
toon  made  manifest  by  his  words. 

"  Master  Herbert  Vaughan  1"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  appeal ;  "  1  have 
helped  you  to  rescue  your  sweetheart.  Mine  is  in  danger  1" 

The  young  Englishman  stood  in  no  need  of  this  appeal.  Already  he 
had  disengaged  his  arm  from  -bat  of  his  cousin,  and  stood  ready  for  ac- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  Herbert!"  cried  the  young  girl,  in  wild  accents  of  distress  ; "  there 
is  fearful  danger !  Oh,  you  must  not  go.  Oh,  do  not  leave  me !" 

Cubiua  looked  as  if  regretting  the  challenge  he  had  thrown  out. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  ?"  said  he,  with  no  sarcasm  meant  by  the 
words.  "  There  is  danger,  but  you  must  not  share  it.  Your  life  now  be- 
longs to  another.  I  did  not  think  of  that,  Master  Vaughan." 

"  In  the  eyes  of  that  other,"  replied  Herbert,  "  niy  life  would  be  worth- 
less, as  it  would  to  myself,  were  I  to  play  the  poltroon.  Brave  Cubina  1 
I  cannot  fail  you  now.  Dear  Kate  !  it  is  Yola  who  is  in  danger — Tola  to 
whom  we  are  both  indebted.  But  for  her  I  would  not  have  known  that 
you  loved  me  ,  and  then  we  should  both " 

**  Ah  I  Yola  in  danger  1"  interrupted  the  young  Creole,  her  affection  for 
her  maid  half  stifling  the  fear  for  her  beloved.    "  Oh,  Herbert!  go  if  you 
will,  but  let  me  go  with  you.    I  should  die  if  you  returned  not.    Yes, 
yes  ;  if  death  comes  to  you,  it  shall  be  mine  also.    Herbert,  do  not  leave  i 
me  behind!" 

"  Only  for  a  moment,  Kate  I  I  shall  soon  return.  Fear  not.  With 
right  on  our  side,  the  brave  Cubina  and  I  can  conquer  a  score  of  these 
black  robbers.  We  shall  be  back  before  you  can  -count  a  hundred 
There  I  conceal  yourself  in  these  bushes,  and  wait  for  our  coming.  I  shall 
call  out  for  you.  Behind  the  bushes  you  will  be  safe.  Not  a  word,  not  a 
movement,  till  you  hear  me  calling  your  name." 

As  he  uttered  these  admonitions,  the  brave  young  man  gently  guided 
his  cousin  into  the  thicket.  Causing  her  to  kneel  down  in  a  shaded 
covert,  he  imprinted  a  hurried  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  and  the*  hastily 
leaving  her,  followed  Cubina  towards  the  fight 


366 

In  a  few  seconds  they  ran  down  to  the  garden  wall,  and  passed  rapidlj 
through  the  wicket-gate,  which  they  found  standing  open. 

On  through  the  garden,  and  straight  towards  the  place  from  -which  they 
imagined  the  sounds  had  proceeded. 

Strange  enough,  these  had  ceased  as  abruptly  as  they  had  arisen — tht 
cries  of  the  men,  the  screaming  of  the  women,  the  shots,  and  the  loud 
shouting  I 

All,  as  if  by  a  simultaneous  signal,  had  become  silent ;  ag  R-ongh  tht 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  not  only  the  noises,  but  those  who  IjaP 
been  causing  them  I 

Unheeding  the  change,  Herbert  and  Cubina  kept  on ;  nor  came  to  a  step 
until  they  had  passed  the  smoking  remains  of  the  mansion,  and  sioorf 
upon  the  platform  that  fronted  it. 

There  halted  they. 

There  was  still  some  fitful  light  from  the  burning  beams ;  but  the 
beams  of  the  moon  told  a  truer  tale.  They  illuminated  a  tableau  signifi- 
cant as  terrible. 

Near  the  spot  was  a  stretcher,  on  which  lay  the  corpse  of  a  white  man 
half  uncovered,  ghastly  as  death  could  make  it.  Close  to  it  were  thre« 
others,  corpses  like  itself,  only  that  they  were  those  of  men  with  a  black 
•pidermis. 

Herbert  easily  identified  the  first.  It  had  been  his  companion  on  that 
day's  journey.  It  was  the  corpse  of  his  un£?e. 

As  easily  did  Cubina  recognise  the  others.  They  were,  or  had  been, 
men  of  his  own  band — the  Maroons — left  by  Quaco  to  guard  the 
prisoners. 

The  prisoners  1  where  were  they  ?    Escaped  ? 

It  took  Cubina  but  little  time  to  resolve  the  mystery.  To  the  practised 
eye  of  one  who  had  tied  so  many  a  black  runaway,  there  was  no  difficulty 
in  interpreting  the  sign  there  presented  to  his  view. 

A  tangle  of  ropes  and  sticks  brought  to  mind  the  contrivances  of 
Quaco  for  securing  his  captives.  They  lay  upon  the  trodden  ground,  cast 
away,  and  forsaken. 

The  '  ca9adores'had  escaped.    The  affair  had  been  a  rescue ! 

Rather  relieved  by  this  conjecture,  which  soon  assumed  the  form  of  a 
conviction,  Herbert  and  Cnbina  were  about  returning  to  the  place  where 
they  had  left  the  young  Creole — whom  they  supposed  to  be  still  awaiting 
them. 

But  they  had  not  calculated  on  the  bravery  of  love — much  less  upon 
its  recklessness. 

As  they  faced  towards  the  dark  declivity  of  the  mountain,  a  form  like 
•A  white-robed  sylph  was  seen  flitting  athwart  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and 
descending  towards  the  garden  wall.  On  it  glided — on  and  downward—- 
as the  snow-plumed  gull  in  its  graceful  parabola. 

Neither  was  mystified  by  this  apparition.  At  a  glance  both  recognised 
the  form,  with  its  soft  white  drapery  floating  around  it. 

Love  could  no  longer  endure  that  anxious  suspense.     The  young  creolf 
had  forsaken  her  shelter,  to  share  the  danger  of  him  she  adored. 
Before  either  couid  interfere  to  pr«*vrut~tlie  catastrophe,  sUe  had 


AN   ORPHAN.  367 

sed  through  the  wicket — a  way  better  known  to  her  than  to  them — and 
came  gliding  across  the  garden,  up  to  the  sod  where  they  stood. 

An  exclamation  of  joy  announced  her  perception  that  her  lover  was 
still  unharmed. 

Quick  as  an  echo,  a  second  exclamation  escaped  from  her  lips — but  one 
of  a  far  different  intonation.  It  was  a  cry  of  the  wildest  despair — the 
utterance  of  one  who  suddenly  knew  herself  to  be  an  orphan.  Her  eje* 
h*l  fallen  on  the  corpse  of  her  father 


36$  AN  INVOLUNTARY   SUICIDE. 


CHAPTER  CXXV. 


AY    IKTOLUNTARY     BUICID1. 


On  seeing  the  dead  body  of  her  father,  Kate  Vaughan  sank  to  the  earth 
beside  it ;  not  unconsciously,  but  on  her  knees,  and  in  an  agony  of  grief. 
Bending  over  it,  she  kissed  the  cold  speechless  lips — her  sobs  and  wilder 
ejaculations  following  each  other  in  rapid  succession. 

Only  the  face  of  the  corpse  was  uncovered.  The  camlet  cloak  stiD 
shrouded  the  body,  and  its  gaping  but  bloodless  wounds. '  She  saw  not 
these  ;  and  made  no  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  her  father's  death.  The 
wasted  features,  now  livid,  recalled  the  disease  under  which  be  had  been 
suffering  previous  to  his  departure.  It  was  to  that  he  had  succumbed  ; 
so  reasoned  she. 

Herbert  made  no  attempt  to  undeceive  her.  It  was  not  the  time  to 
enter  into  details  of  the  sad  incident  that  had  transpired.  The  most 
mournful  chapter  of  the  story  was  now  known ; — the  rest  need  scarce  be 
told  ;  Kate  Vaughan  was  fatherless. 

Without  uttering  a  word — not  even  those  phrases  of  consolation  si 
customary  on  such  occasions,  and  withal  so  idle — the  young  man  wouDd 
his  arms  round  the  waist  of  his  cousin,  gently  raised  her  to  an  erect  atti- 
tude, and  supported  her  away  from  the  spot. 

He  passed  slowly  towards  the  rear  of  the  ruined  dwelling. 

There  was  still  enough  light  emitted  from  the  calcined  embers  to  make 
plain  the  path— enough  to  ehow  that  the  little  summer-house  in  the  gar- 
den still  stood  there  in  its  shining  entirety.  Its  distance  from  the  dwell. 
ing-house  had  saved  it  from  the  conflagration. 

Into  this  Herbert  conducted  his  '  protege,'  and,  after  placing  her  on  a 
settee  of  bambooa,  which  the  kiosk  contained,  seated  himself  in  a  chair 
beside  her, 


AN  INVOLUNTARY   StflCIDE.  309 

Tola,  who  had  once  more  appeared  upon  the  scene,  followed  them,  and 
flinging  herself  on  the  floor,  at  her  young  mistress's  feet,  remained  gazing 
upon  her  with  sympathetic  looks,  that  evinced  the  affectionate  devotion 
of  the  Foolah  maiden. 

Cubina  had  gone  in  search  of  the  overseer ;  and  such  of  the  domestica 
as  might  still  have  concealed  themselves  within  a  reasonable  distance. 

The  Maroon  might  have  acted  with  more  caution,  seeing  that  the  second 
attack  of  the  robbers  had  unexpectedly  been  made.    But  he  had  no  fear 
of  their  coming  again.    The  escape  of  the  prisoners  explained  their  j 
second  appearance — the  sole  object  of  which  had  been  to  rescue  the 
'  cacadores.' 

For  awhile  the  three  individuals  hi  the  kiosk  appeared  to  be  the  onlj 
living  forms  that  remained  by  the  desolated  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome, 
The  return  of  the  robbers  had  produced  even  a  more  vivid  feeling  of  af- 
fright than  their  first  appearance ;  and  the  people  of  the  plantation — 
white  as  well  as  black — had  betaken  themselves  to  places  of  concealment 
more  permanent  than  before.  The  whites — overseer,  book-keepers,  and 
all — believing  it  to  be  an  insurrection  of  the  slaves,  had  forsaken  the 
plantation  altogether,  and  fled  towards  Montego  Bay. 

Among  these  panic-stricken  fugitives,  or  rather  at  the  head  of  them, 
was  the  late  distinguished  guest  of  Mount  Welcome — Mr.  Montagu 
Smythje. 

On  being  left  alone,  after  the  departure  of  the  pursuing  party,  he  had 
made  a  rapid  retreat  towards  the  stables ;  and  there,  by  the  assistance  of 
Quashie,  had  succeeded  in  providing  himself  with  a  saddled  horse. 

Not  even  staying  to  divest  himself  of  his  sacchariferous  envelope,  he 
had  mounted  and  ridden  at  top  speed  for  the  port,  announcing  his  fixed 
determination  to  take  the  first  ship  that  should  sail  for  his  "  deaw  metwo- 
polis." 

Smythje  had  seen  enough  of  Jamaica,  and  its  "  qweeole  qweetyaws,1* 
and  more  than  enough  of  "  its  howid  niggaws." 

Cubina,  returning  with  Quashie — who  again,  imp-like,  had  started  up 
in  his  path — the  only  living  being  the  Maroon  could  discover,  announced 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Smythje  was  no  longer  on  the  ground. 

From  those  who  occupied  the  kiosk,  the  intelligence  elicited  no  re- 
sponse. Notwithstanding  the  many  jealous  pangs  he  had  cost  Herbert 
Vaughan,  and  the  important  part  he  had  played  in  the  history  of  the 
Creole's  life,  the  great  lord  of  the  Montagu  Castle  was  no  longer  regarded 
even  as  a  unit  in  the  situation.  Neither  spoke  of  him — neither  gave  a 
thought  to  him.  With  perfect  indifference,  both  Herbert  and  his  cousin 
listened  to  the  report  that  he  was  no  longer  on  the  ground. 

But  there  was  at  that  very  moment  one  upon  the  ground,  who  might 
have  been  better  spared — one  whose  proximity  was  a  thousand  time* 
more  perilous  than  that  of  the  harmless  Smythje. 

As  we  have  said,  Cubina  had  no  apprehensions  about  the  return  of  the 
robbers  ;  but  there  was  a  danger  near,  and  equally  to  be  dreaded — a  dan- 
ger of  which  neither  he  nor  any  of  the  others  could  have  had  even  the 
slightest  suspicion. 

The  Maroon  had  delivered  his  report  at  the  kiosk,  and,  with 


370  AN   INVOLUNTARY   SUICIDE. 

attending  on  him,  had  gone  back  to  the  spot  where  the  dead  body  still 
rested.  He  had  gone  thither  to  ascertain  which  of  his  own  men  had 
fallen  in  the  late  struggle,  and  also  the  better  to  acquaint  himself  with 
the  direction  which  the  robbers  might  have  taken. 

Just  as  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  kiosk,  a  human  figure — gliding 
BO  softly  that  it  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  shadow — passed  through 
the  wicket-gate  in  the  rear  of  the  garden  ;  and,  with  stealthy  step, 
ndvanced  in  the  direction  of  the  summer-house. 

Notwithstanding  an  ample  cloak  in  which  the  figure  was  enveloped,  ita 
wntour  could  be  distinguished  as  that  of  a  woman — one  of  boldly 
developed  form. 

The  blaze  of  the  still  burning  timbers  waa  no  longer  constant.  At  in- 
tervals some  piece — losing  its  equilibrium,  under  the  effect  of  the  con' 
Burning  fire — would  fall  with  a  crushing  sound :  to  be  followed  by  a  freah 
glare  of  light,  which  would  continue  ior  a  longer  or  shorter  period  of 
lime,  according  to  the  circumstances  that  created  it. 

Just  as  the  silent  figure,  approaching  along  the  path,  had  arrived  with- 
in a  few  paces  of  the  summer-house,  one  of  the  sudden  corruscationa 
afose,  lighting  up  not  only  the  interior  of  the  summer-houee,  but  the 
whole  inclosure  to  its  farthest  limits. 

Under  that  light,  had  any  one  been  looking  rearwards  across  the  gar- 
den, they  would  have  beheld  a  beautiful  face — yet  disfigured  by  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  rage  and  pain,  that  rendered  it  even  hideous.  It  waa 
the  face  of  Judith  Jessuron. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  why  she  was  there.  The  fire  of  jealousy 
was  still  burning  in  her  breast — more  furiously,  more  bitterly  than  ever. 

In  another  instant  she  had  placed  herself  in  a  position  that  command- 
ed a  view  of  the  interior  of  the  kiosk. 

What  she  saw  -there  was  not  calculated  to  extinguish  the  fearful  fire 
that  consumed  her.  On  the  contrary,  like  the  collision  of  the  falling  tim- 
bers, it  had  the  effect  of  stirring  it  to  increased  strength  and  fierceness. 

Kate  Vaughan  had  raised  herself  from  her  reclining  position,  and  waa 
sitting  upright  on  the  bamboo  settee.  Herbert  was  by  her  side,  also 
seated.  Their  bodies  were  in  contact — the  arm  of  the  young  man  softly 
encircling  the  waist  of  his  cousin.  It  would  have  been  evident  to  the 
most  uninterested  observer  that  their  hearts  were  equally  en  rapport, 
that  between  them  was  a  tie — the  strongest  on  earth — the  tie  of  mutual 
love ! 

It  needed  no  reasoning  on  the  part  of  Judith  Jessuron  to  arrive  at  thia 
conclusion. 

The  tableau  was  typical.  It  was  a  picture  that  required  no  explanation 
nor  did  she  who  looked  upon  it  ask  for  any. 

She  did  not  even  stay  to  notice  the  brown-skinned  damsel,  who  seemed 
to  be  guarding  the  entrance  of  the  kiosk  ;  but,  springing  past  her,  she 
stood  in  a  defiant  attitude  in  the  presence  of  the  lovers. 

"Herbert  Vaughan  1"  cried  she,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  abandonment, 
14  traitorl  perjured  villain  !  you  have  been  false  to  me " 

"  It  is  not  true,  Judith  Jessuron !"  cried  the  young  man,  interrupting 
her,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  his  surprise,  springing  to  hu 
feet  "It  i§  not  true.  I 1  never  intended " 


AN  INVOLUNTARY   SUICIDE.  371 

"Hal"  screamed  the  Jewess,  her  rage  apparently  becoming  more  fierce 
at  the  attempted  explanation;  "  never  intended  what?" 

"  Never  intended  to  marry  you.    I  never  gave  you  promise        " 

"  False  1"  cried  Judith,  once  more  jnterrupting  him.  "  No  matter  now 
— it  is  all  past ;  and,  since  you  never  intended  to  marry  me  ;  she  at  least 
will  never  be  your  wife." 

The  action  that  followed  rendered  the  menace  of  the  mad  woman  too 
easily  intelligible. 

As  she  gave  utterance  to  it  she  passed  her  hand  under  the  mantle  ia 
which  her  figure  was  enveloped  ;  and,  as  she  drew  it  forth  again,  a  shin- 
ing object  appeared  between  her  fingers. 

It  was  a  pistol,  with  silver  sheen  and  ivory  handle — small,  but  large 
enough  to  take  life  at  such  close  quarters. 

It  was  presented  as  soon  as  drawn,  but  not  at  Herbert  Yaughan.  It 
was  towards  his  companion  that  its  muzzle  was  pointed  I 

Scarce  a  second  passed  before  the  report  was  heard ;  and  for  a  time, 
the  kiosk  was  filled  with  smoke. 

When  this  cleared  away,  and  the  shining  light  once  more  penetrated 
the  apartment  a  woman  was  seen  extended  on  the  floor,  her  form  quivering 
in  the  last  throes  of  life.  In  another  instant  it  was  motionless — a  corpse  1 

The  shot  had  proved  fatal ;  but  the  victim  was  not  Kate  Yaughan, 
but  Judith  Jessuron  1 

The  transposition  was  due  to  the  Foolah  maid.  Seeing  the  life  of  her 
mistress  in  such  imminent  peril,  she  had  sprung  up  from  her  seat  by  the 
door ;  and,  bounding  forward  with  the  supple  quickness  of  a  cheetah, 
had  seized  the  wrist  of  the  intended  murderess,  with  the  intention  of 
averting  her  aim,  and,  in  doing  so,  had  directed  it  upon  herself. 

It  was  accident,  therefore,  and  not  from  design  on  the  part  of  Tola, 
that  Judith  Jessuron  thus  terminated  her  life  by  an  involuntary  suicide 


872  QtTACO   IN   AMBU8H. 


CHAPTER  CXXVL 


QUAOO     IN     AMBUSH. 


Tn  Maroon  captain,  before  leaving  the  Duppy's  Hole,  had  given  official 
orders  to  his  lieutenant  about  the  capture  of  Chakra.  There  could  no 
longer  be  any  question  of  the  absence  of  the  myal-man  from  his  haunt. 
The  Maroons  had  continued  their  search  after  the  discovery  in  the  cave 
Btill  thinking  that  he  might  be  concealed  somewhere  in  the  wood.  The 
boshes  were  well  beaten — the  trees,  where  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to 
have  climbed,  were  all  scrutinised ;  and  the  search  had  ended  without 
their  finding  any  other  trace  of  the  Goromantee  than  what  had  been 
already  discovered. 

Beyond  doubt,  Chakra  had  gone  abroad — though  in  what  direction,  no 
one  could  guess ;  and  to  have  attempted  tracking  him  at  night,  and 
through  a  pathless  forest,  would  have  been  labour  lost. 

The  correct  scheme  for  capturing  him  was  for  the  Maroons  to  remain 
in  the  Duppy's  Hole,  against  his  return.;  and  by  keeping  in  ambuscade 
until  he  should  have  re-crossed  the  lagoon,  they  would  have  him,  as  it  were, 
in  a  trap. 

This  was  the  plan  chosen — with  the  execution  of  which  Quaco  was  in- 
trusted. 

Indeed,  the  initiatory  steps  had  been  taken  already ;  for  ever  since  the 
search  by  torchlight  had  been  abandoned,  Quaco  and  his  men  had  been 
placed  in  ambush. 

Cubina  perceived  the  error  he  had  committed  in  causing  the  tewch  to 
be  made. 


QtJAdO   ttf   AMBUSH.  373 

I 

Chakra  might  have  been  upon  the  cliff  above,  where  he  could  not  have 
failed  to  see  the  light  of  the  torches. 

If  so,  there  would  not  be  the  slighest  hope  of  his  returning  for  that 
eight.  After  witnessing  such  an  invasion  of  his  secret  haunt,  his  caution 
would  be  upon  the  qui  vivc — enough  to  hinder  him  from  venturing  down 
into  the  Duppj's  Hole,  notwithstanding  the  attractive  lure  he  had  there 
left  behind  him. 

Cubina  thus  reflected  with  regret — with  chagrin.  The  capture  of 
Chakra  had  now  become  an  object  of  primary  importance. 

After  all,  the  apprehension  that  he  had  seen  the  torches,  or  in  any  way 
become  aware  of  the  intrusion  of  strangers  upon  his  solitary  domain 
may  have  been  aa  idle  one.  If  so,  then  he  would  be  certain  to  come 
back.  The  presence  of  his  prisoner  was  earnest  of  his  return,  and  at  no 
distant  period  of  time. 

To  make  sure  of  his  capture,  the  Maroon  captain  had  himself  planned 
the  arnbush.  Quaco  and  his  men  were  placed  under  the  great  tree — 
where  the  myal-man  was  accustomed  to  moor  his  craft.  Some  of  them 
were  stationed  on  the  tree,  among  its  branches,  with  the  design  that  they 
should  drop  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  Coromantee,  as  soon  as  he  should 
arrive  at  his  anchorage. 

The  canoe  itself  was  to  be  left  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairway,  after 
being  taken  thither  by  the  Maroon  eaptain  and  his  two  companions,  on 
their  departure  from  the  place.  All  this  was  done  as  designed.  - 

Before  parting  from  the  canoe,  Cubina  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
place  it  in  the  exact  position  in  which  it  had  been  left  by  Chakra,  so  that 
the  latter  could  have  no  suspicion  that  the  craft  had  been  used  during 
his  absence. 

The  Maroons  were  armed  with  guns,  loaded  and  primed.  Not  that 
they  intended  to  kill  Chakra.  On  the  contrary,  Cubina's  orders  were  to 
capture  him.  Criminal  as  was  the  outlawed  myal-man,  it  was  not  their 
province  to  decide  upon  his  criminality — at  least,  not  so  far  as  to  the  de- 
priving him  of  his  life.  Free  as  was  the  license  enjoyed  by  the^e  moun- 
tain rovers,  there  were  laws  around  them  by  which  even  they  were 
bound  to  abide.  Besides,  there  would  be  no  danger  of  his  escaping 
from  the  punishment  that  was  his  due.  They  knew  that  Chakra'a  cap- 
ture would  be  but  the  prelude  to  his  execution. 

,  They  had  another  reason  for  their  being  attentive  to  their  arms.  It 
was  just  possible  the  Coromantee  might  not  return  alone.  They  knew  he 
had  bee».  in  the  company  of  others — Adam  and  his  band  of  desperate 
robbers.  These  confederates  might  come  back  along  with  him.  In  that 
case,  the  quiet  scheme  of  their  capture  might  be  transformed  into  a  san- 
guinary encounter. 

It  was  not  necesaary  all  should  keep  awake.  One  half  of  the  little 
band  were  appointed  sentinels,  while  the  others  went  to  sleep. 

The  lieutenant  himself  was  among  the.  number  of  those  who  was  en- 
titled to  the  latter  privilege,  since  for  tw  j  days  and  nights  he  had  scarce 
slept  a  wink. 

Speedily  surrendering  himself  to  the  drowsy  god,  Quaco  indulged  in  a 
profound  slumber — snoring  in  such  fashion,  that,  but  for  the  louder  into 


374  QtTACO  m  AMBUSH. 

nation  of  the  waters  surging  through  the  gorge  below,  his  huge  nostnli 
would  have  betrayed  his  presence  to  the  expected  Ghakra — even  before 
the  latter  should  have  set  foot  in  his  canoe. 

As  it  was,  however,  the  roaring  of  the  cataract  quite  drowned  the  nasal 
music  of  the  sleeping  Quaco,  and  his  companions  suffered  him  to  snore 


fcOOM   OF  DESTINY.  375 


CHAPTER  CXXYIL 

TUB     DOOM     OF     DESTINY. 


UNTIL  daybreak  was  Quaco  permitted  to  continue  his  snoring  and  hia 
slumber.  Up  to  that  time,  no  Chakra  appeared  ;  but  just  as  the  red 
aurora  began  to  tinge  the  tops  of  the  forest  trees,  a  dark  form  was  dis- 
tinguished upon  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  just  over  the  tree  stairway. 

It  had  scarce  made  its  appearance,  when  another  w'as  seen  coming  for- 
ward by  its  side ,  and,  in  the  rear  of  both,  another — and  then  a  fourth. 

All  four  halted  for  a  moment  on  the  brow  of-  the  precipice.  Whether 
they  were  in  conversation  could  not  be  told.  Likely  they  were,  but 
their  voices  could  not  be  heard  above  the  mutterings  of  the  moving 
water. 

Presently,  he  who  had  first  made  his  appearance  commenced  descend- 
ing the  cliff,  followed  by  the  others,  apparently  in  the  same  order  in 
which  they  had  arrived  upon  its  edge. 

Cingttes  had  already  shaken  Quaco  from  his  slumbers.  The  other 
sleepers  had  also  been  aroused  by  their  companions ;  and,  perceiving 
the  numbers  of  the  enemy,  had  grasped  their  guns  with  a  firmer  hold. 

Though  the  day  had  now  dawned,  none  of  the  four  shadowy  figures 
outlined  against  the  facade  of  the  cliff,  could  be  identified.  The  dark 
rock  and  the  bramble  hindered  them  from  being  fairly  seen.  Not  even 
when  they  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stair  could  they  be  recognised  : 
for  ui*re  also  the  frondage  afforded  them  cover. 

It  was  only  after  the  twc  foremost  had  entered  the  wince,  and  tho  craft 
was  seen  gliding  out  into  the  open  water,  that  Quaco  could  tell  who  wera 
the  two  individuals  thus  seeking  the  solitude  of  the  Duppy'e 


376  THE  DOOM  OF  DESTINY. 

"  Cliakra !"  said  he,  in  a  whisper  to  Cingues.  "  The  tothet  f  Prince! 
if  my  eyes  don't  bamboozle  me,  it's  your  old  acquaintance,  the  penn 
keeper  1" 

To  the  Fellatah  this  piece  of  information  was  superfluous :  he  had 
already  recognised  the  well-known  features  of  the  man  who  had  so  deeply 
injured  him. 

The  memory  of  all  his  wrongs  now  rushed  into  nis  heart,  accompanied 
by  a  thirst  for  vengeance— keen,  irresistible. 

With  a  wild  cry— and  before  Quaco  could  interpose — he  raised  hif 
piece  and  fired. 

The  young  African  was  a  marksman  of  unerring  aim  ;  and  but  for  th« 
upraised  arm  of  Quaco,  that  had  disturbed  the  level  of  that  deadly  tube, 
the  hours  of  Jacob  Jessuron  would  have  been  numbered. 

And  numbered  they  were.  Despite  the  interruption — despite  the  acci- 
dent that  guided  that  leaden  missile  far  wide  of  its  mark— destiny  had 
determined  upon  having  its  victim. 

Neither  of  the  occupants  of  the  canoe  appeared  to  have  been  wounded ; 
but  as  the  smoke  cleared  away,  it  could  be  seen  that  the  shot  had  not 
passed  them  without  effect.  Chakra's  hasds  were  empty ;  the  paddle 
had  been  struck  by  the  bullet ;  and  carried  clean  out  of  them,  was  now 
Been  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  fast  gliding  towards  the  gorge  1 

A  shrill  cry  escaped  from  the  lips  of  the  Coromactee.  He  alone  un- 
derstood the  danger  to  which  the  accident  had  exposed  him.  He  alone 
knew  of  the  whirl  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  both  himself  and  his 
campanion. 

Instantly  he  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and,  with  an  arm  extended 
on  each  side  of  the  canoe,  and  his  body  bent  down  to  the  gunwale,  he 
commenced  beating  the  water  with  his  broad  palms.  His  aim  was  to 
prevent  the  craft  from  being  drawn  into  the  centre  of  the  current. 

For  some  moments  the  strange  struggle  was  kept  up — the  canoe  just 
holding  its  own — making  way  neither  upwards  nor  downwards. 

The  Maroons  watched  the  movement  with  mute  surprise ;  and  no 
doubt  would  have  continued  to  do  so,  but  that  the  two  men  left  by  the 
bottom  of  the  stairway — perhaps  stirred  by  a  like  curiosity — had  rushed 
forward  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  thus  permitted  their  faces  to  be 
seen.  At  the  same  instant  were  they  recognised  by  one  who  had  an  old 
account  to  settle  with  them. 

"  The  Jack  Spaniards  I"  cried  Quaco,  surprised  beyond  measure  at  the 
sight  of  his  ci-devant  prisoners.  "They  have  got  loose  from  our  guard. 
Fire  upon  them,  comrades !  Don't  let  them  escape  a  second  time  1" 

The  stentorian  voice  of  the  Maroon  lieutenant,  audible  above  all  other 
sounds,  at  once  awakened  the  ca^adores  to  a  sense  of  their  dangerou§ 
situation ;  and,  like  a  brace  of  baboons,  they  commenced  sprawling  up 
the  tangled  stairway. 

Too  late  had  they  taken  this  resolution.  Before  they  had  got  a  third 
way  to  the  summit,  half-a-dozen  triggers  were  pulled ;  and  their  bodies, 
one  close  after  the  other,  fell  with  a  heavy  plunge  into  the  water  below. 
Meanwhile,  Chakra,  in  the  canee,  had  kept  up  his  life  and  death 
struggle,  now  going  against  the  current— md  now  the  watery  element 
appearing  to  prevai? .-. 


THE  DOOM  OF   DESTINY.  377 

For  the  moment  the  Maroons  could  not  have  decided  that  sfaife.  Thej 
Were  engaged  in  reloading  their  guns  ;  arid  the  Coromantee  was  left  free 
to  continue  his  struggle  without  interruption. 

Chakra's  bitterest  enemies  could  scarce  have  desired  to  bring  that 
scene  to  a  speedy  termination.  No  avenger  need  have  wished  his  vic- 
tim in  a  more  terrible  situation  than  were  Ghakra  and  his  confederate  at 
that  moment 

The  former,  acting  under  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  had  not  yet 
'  given  way  to  despair  ;  while  the  terrified  look  of  the  latter,  who  appear- 
ed to  have  already  succumbed  to  it,  might  have  restrained  his  deadliest 
foe  from  interference. 

Between  the  long,  sinewy  arms  of  Chakra  and  the  strength  of  the  cur 
rent,  it  was  difficult  to  decide  which  would  conquer.  For  many  minuter 
the  forces  appeared  to  be  equally  balanced.  But  the  strength  of  the  man 
was  declining,  while  that  of  the  element  remained  the  same.  In  the  end 
the  waters  must  prevail.  Chakra  at  length  appeared  to  become  convin- 
ced of  this ;  and  cast  round  him  a  glance  of  mingled  inquiry  and  des- 
pair. 

At  that  moment  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him — some  thought  perhaps 
that  promised  him  a  chance  of  escape. 

All  at  once  he  desisted  from  his  hopeless  efforts  to  stay  the  canoe,  as 
if  some  resolution  had  suddenly  become  fixed ;  and,  turning  towards  his 
companion,  he  bent  down,  as  if  about  to  whisper  to  him.  His  wild, 
dark  look,  however,  declared  his  intention  to  be  far  different. 

When  fairly  within  reach,  he  threw  out  his  long  arms  with  a  sudden 
jerk,  and,  clutching  the  Jew  by  both  shoulders,  drew  him  up  into  his 
embrace,  like  some  gigantic  spider  seizing  upon  its  prey. 

Suddenly  changing  his  hold,  he  grasped  an  arm  and  limb ;  and,  raising 
the  body  high  in  air,  with  an  immense  muscular  effort,  he  projected  it 
clear  over  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe. 

One  shriek  from  the  Jew — emitted  in  the  extremest  accent  of  grief — 
was  heard  simultaneously  with  the  plunge  ;  and  then  the  body  of  the 
unfortunate  man  disappeared  beneath  the  dark  waters  of  the  lagoon. 

His  hat  and  umbrella  alone  floated  on  the  surface,  both  rapidly  carried 
along  by  the  current. 

The  wretched  creature  rose  again,  but  not  to  discover  any  chance  of 
saving  himself  from  destruction.  The  only  gratification  he  could  have 
drawn  from  his  temporary  emergence  was  to  perceive  that  his  false  con- 
federate must  perish  as  well  as  himself. 

Chakra  had  hoped  that  by  lightening  the  canoe  he  might  contend  more 
successfully  with  the  current ;  but  it  soon  became  evident  that  his  hopes 
would  prove  vain. 

In  disembarrassing  himself  of  his  compagnon  du  voyage  he  had  lost 
way ;  and,  before  he  could  recover  it,  the  canoe  was  sucked  into  a 
charybdis,  from  which  the  power  of  the  paddle  could  not  have  extrica- 
ted it 

In  less  than  ten  seconds  the  craft  entered  the  embouchure  of  the 
gorge,  gliding  downward  with  the  velocity  of  an  arrow. 

It  was  but  a  despairing  effort  on  the  part  of  its  occupant  to  seize  upon 
a  tree  that  grew  horizontally  from  the  rooks ;  though  in  his 


878  THE  pOOM  OF  DESTIHY, 

Chakra  clutched  it.     Even  had  the  bush  been  firmly  rooted,  his  strength 
would  not  have  sustained  him  against  the  tierce,  resistless  flood. 
i    But  it  was  not    The  roots  gave  way  ;  and,  in  another  instant  the  Cor- 
emantee  and  his  canoe  were  precipitated  a*  hundred  feet  sheer  among 
the  rocks  below ! 

His  confederate  had  preceded  him  only  by  two  seconds  of  time ;  and 
the  dead  bodies  of  both  came  oace  more  in  close  contact — circling  round 
and  round,  amidst  the  frothy  spume  that  creamed  over  the  cauldron  be 
'low. 


379 


CHAPTER    CXXVIH. 


ON  the  morning  that  succeeded  the  occurrence  of  these  tragic  events,  on* 
entering  at  the  great  gate  of  Mount  Welcome  estate,  and  directing  his 
eye  up  the  long  palm-shaded  avenue,  would  have  beheld  but  a  mass  of 
black,  smoking  ruin. 

On  any  other  morning,  twelve  months  after,  the  eye  of  a  person  look- 
ing in  the  same  direction,  would  have  been  gladdened  by  a  sight  far  dif- 
ferent. Smiling  in  all  its  splendor,  at  the  end  of  that  vegetable  vista, 
once  more  could  be  seen  the  proud  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome — ren- 
naissant  in  every  respect — its  stone  stairway  still  standing — its  whiti- 
walls,  and  green  jalousied  windows  looking  as  if  they  had  sprung, 
phoenix-like,  from  the  flames — every  item  of  the  architecture  so  cicely 
in  imitation  of  the  former  structure,  that  even  the  eye  of  an  old  acquaint- 
tnce  could  have  detected  no  trace  of  the  transformation. 

Outside,  everything  appeared  as  before.  It  was  only  upon  entering 
vhe  mansion  that  you  might  perceive  a  change,  and  this  chiefly  relating 
to  its  occupancy  and  ownership.  Instead  of  a  stout,  red-faced,  and 
iomewhat  plebeian  personage,  of  over  forty  years  old,  you  would  see  in 
the  present  proprietor  of  Mount  Welcome  a  youth  of  noble  mein,  by  age 
acarce  claiming  the  privileges  of  manhood,  but  in  aspect  and  demeanour 
evidently  fit  for  the  performance  of  its  duties — deserving  to  be  the 
master  of  that  aristocratic  mansion. 

Near  him — oh !  certain  to  be  near  him — there  is  one  upon  whom  the  eye 
rests  with  still  greater  interest ;  one  who  had  graced  the  old  mansion— 


OONOLUSIOW. 

yet  more  gracing  the  new — the  daughter  of  Ite  former  proprietor^  tht 
wife  of  its  present  one. 

She  has  not  even  changed  her  name — only  her  condition.  Lillj 
Quasheba  is  no  longer  Miss  but  Mrs.  Vaughau  1 

Both  these  personages  may  be  seen  seated  IL  that  great  hall,  with 
floor  as  smooth  and  furniture  as  resplendent  as  ever. 

It  is  the  hour  after  breakfast,  and  also,  as  of  yore,  the  hour  when  the 
post  may  be  expected.  Not  that  either  cared  to  look  abroad  for  that 
diurnal  messenger — more  welcome  to  those  around  whom  Hymen  ha§ 
not  yet  wound  his  golden  chain. 

Equally  indifferent  were  those  two  happy  individuals  to  the  actions  of 
the  outside  world :  neither  cared  for  its  news.  Their  love,  still  in  the 
fresh  flush  of  its  honeymoon,  was  world  enough  for  them ;  and  what 
interest  could  either  feel  in  the  arrival  of  the  mail  ? 

But  the  post  has  no  respect  either  for  indifference  or  anxiety.    It  is 
.  transmitted  alike  to  the  grave  and  the  gay.    It  brings  joy  to  the  heart 
heavy  laden,  and  sorrow  to  that  which  the  moment  before  its  arrival  may 
have  been  bounding  with  bliss. 

In  that  great  hall  in  the  mansion  of  Mount  Welcome  there  were  two 
bosoms  brimful  of  bliss,  or  a  feeling  near  akin  to  it.  Nay,  why  should 
we  say  akm  to  it,  since  they  were  two  hearts  in  the  enjoyment  of  mutua* 
love?  If  that  be  not  bliss,  there  is  no  ether — either  on  earth  or  in 
heaven. 

Without  any  attempt  at  concealment,  the  eyes  of  both  betrayed  their 
mutual  delight.  Gazing  on  each  other,  in  sweet  reciprocal  admiration, 
they  saw  not  that  dark  form — rudely  centaurean — that  approached  up  the 
long  avenue. 

Had  they  seen  it,  it  would  have  created  no  surprise.  It  was  only  the 
post-boy,  Quashie,  on  his  shaggy  cob,  returning  from  the  Bay. 

After  this  speculative  peroration,  the  reader  may  be  apprehensive  of 
some  dire  development  springing  from  the  letter-bag  slung  over  the 
shoulders  of  the  darkey. 

Nothing  of  the  kind.  There  was  a  letter,  but  not  one  that  might  be  un- 
welcome. But  for  the  postmark,  it  might  have  remained  unopened. 

But  the  impress  was  peculiar.  It  was  African.  The  letter  was  stamp 
ed  with  the  name  of  a  port  near  the  mouth  of  the  Gambia.  It  was  ad« 
dressed  to  "  Herbert  Vaughan,  Esq.,  Mount  Welcome,  Jamaica." 

The  young  planter  broke  the  seal,  and  rapidly  ran  over  the  contents  of 
| the  epistle, 

"  From  your  brother,  Cubina  I"  said  he,  though  he  knew  he  imparted 
no  information  by  this.  "  He  writes  to  say  he  is  coming  back  again  to 
Jamaica." 

"  Oh !  I  am  so  glad  of  that.  I  knew  he  would  never  live  contented 
among  those  wild  people,  notwithstanding  he  has  been  made  a  prince 
over  them;  but  Tola " 

"  She  comes  with  him,  of  course.  It  is  not  likely  he  would  leave  her 
behind.  She  longs  for  her  island  home  again.  I  don't  wonder,  dearest 
Kate.  There  is  one  spot  on  the  earth  hallowed  beyond  all  others — the 
ipot  where  heart  meets  heart,  in  the  free  confession  of  a  mutual  love, 


CONCLUSION. 

No  wonder  the  African  maiden  should  desi  e  to  return  to  it.  Human 
nature  is  everywhere  the  same.  To  me  this  island  is  the  eljsiuui  of 
earth!" 

"  Ah  I  to  me  also  I" 

On  giving  utterance  to  this  mutual  confession,  the  young  husband  and 
wife  bent  towards  each  other  and  pressed  lips,  as  fervently  as  if  they  had 
never  been  married  1 

After  this  fond  embrace,  Herbert  continued  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

"Ohl"  exclaimed  he,  when  he  had  perused  another  portion  of  the 
epistle ;  "  your  brother  wants  to  know  whether  he  can  either  become  my 
tenant  or  purchase  that  piece  of  land  that  lies  beyond  the  Jumbe  Rock. 
The  old  king  has  given  him  a  capital  to  start  with,  and  he  wants  to  turn 
coffee-planter." 

"  I  am  so  glad  he  has  such  intentions.  Then  he  will  settle  down,  and 
be  near  us." 

"  He  must  not  be  permitted  to  purchase  it,  We  shall  present  it  to  him 
•ince  we  have  enough  without  it.  What  say  you,  Kate  ?  It  is  yours, 
not. mine  to  give." 

"  Ah  I"  returned  the  young  wife,  in  a  tone  of  playful  reproach,  "  do  not 
distress  me  with  those  sad  souvenirs.  You  know  that  I  gave  it  to  you 
when  I  might  have  believed  myself  its  mistress  ;  and " 

"  Stay,  dearest.  Do  not  distress  me  by  such  an  appeal  1  You  were  its 
rightful  owner,  and  should  have  been.  Even  had  we  not  become  joint 
proprietors,  I  should  never  have  thought  of  disposessing  you.  Say,  then, 
that  the  land  shall  be  Cubina's  ?" 

A  repetition  of  that  sweet  embrace  pronounced  the  consent  of  both  to 
the  proposal  of  Gubina. 

Herbert  resumed  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

"  Good  heavens  I"  cried  he,  on  finishing  its  perusal,  "  what  a  singular 
story  1  The  captain  of  the  slaver,  who  brought  Yola's  brother  over  ta 
Jamaica,  has  been  back  again  to  the  coast.  Wnat  a  terrible  retaliation  1H 

"What,  dear  Herbert?" 

"  Only  that  they  have  eaten  him .'" 

"Oh,  merciful  Father  1" 

"  Sad  and  terrible  though  it  be,  it  is  true  ;  else  Cubina  would  not  have 
written  it.  Hear  what  he  says  : — 

"'  Jowler' — that  was  the  name  of  the  slaver's  captain — '  presented  hirn- 
•elf  before  old  Foolah-foota,  in  search  of  a  fresh  cargo  of  slaves.  The 
lung,  already  apprised  of  the  skipper's  treason  to  Cingues,  instantly  order- 
ed him  to  be  seized  ;  and,  without  trial  or  other  formality,  caused  him  to 
be  chopped  to  pieces  upon  the  spot.  He  was  afterwards  cooked  and  eat- 
en, at  the  grand  national  feast,  which  was  held  on  the  celebration  of  my 
nuptials  with  the  princess  Yola.  Crambo!  it  was  a  painful  scene  ;  and  on* 
might  have  felt  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  wretch,  had  he  been  any- 
thing else  but  a  dealer  in  human  flesh  ;  but,  under  that  reflection,  I  stood 
by  without  feeling  any  great  anxiety  to  interfere  iu  his  bohalf.  In  fact, 
my  Fellatah  father-in-law  was  so  furious,  I  could  not  have  saved  the 
wretch  from  a  fate  which,  after  all,  was  perhaps  not  more  than  he  deserv- 
ed ;  aud  to  which,  no  doubt,  the  poor  victim*  he  had  carried  across  tht 


$82 

Atlantic  would  have  been  only  to  glad  to  have  seen  him  con»igned.' * 
"  It  is  well,"  said  Kate,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  "  that  Cubina  had  deter- 
mined upon  leaving  a  land  where,  I  fear  such  scenes  are  too  common.  I 
shall  be  so  happy  to-  see  them  both  once  more  in  our  dear,  beautiful 
island.  And  you,  Herbert,  I  am  sure,  will  rejoice  at  their  return." 

"  Most  certainly  I  shall.    Ah,  Kate !  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  how  much 
we  are  indebted  to  them  ?" 
"  Often,  Herbert — often.    And  were  it  not  that  I  am  a  firm  believer  is 

?  destiny,  I  should  fancy  that  but  for  them " 

\    "  Nonsense,  Kate  1"  playfully  interrupted  the  young  husband.    **  None 

I  if  your  creole  superstitions.    There  is  no  such  thing  as  destiny.    It  was 

aot    that  which   ruled  my  heart  to  believe  you  the  fairest  thing    in 

creation — but  because  you  are  so.    Don't  be  ungenerous  to  Cubina  and 

Ycla.    Give  them  all  the  credit  that  is  due  to  them.    Say  frankly,  love, 

that  bat  for  them  you  might  have  become  Mrs.  Smythje,  and  I — I " 

"  Oh,  Herbert!  speak  not  of  the  past.  Let  that  be  buried  in  oblivion, 
since  our  present  is  everything  we  can  desire  I" 

"  Agreed  1  But  for  all  that,  dearest,  do  not  let  us  forget  the  gratitude 
we  owe  to  Cubina  and  his  dark-skinned  bride.  And  to  prove  it  to  them, 
I  propose  something  more  than  giving  them  the  piece  of  land.  Let  us 
build  them  a  house  upon  it ;  so  that  upon  their  arrival  they  may  have  a 
roof  to  shelter  them." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  a  pleasant  surprise  for  them  1" 
"  Then  we  shall  bring  it  about.    What  a  lovely  morning  I    Don't  you 
think  so,  Kate  ?" 

As  Herbert  put  this  interrogatory,  he  glanced  out  through  the  open 
jalousies. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  fine  about  the  morning — at  least,  for 
Jamaica ;  but  Kate  saw  with  Herbert's  eyes ;  and  just  then,  to  the  eye§  of 
both,  everything  appeared  coul-eur-dc-rose. 

h  Indeed,  a  beautiful  morning !"  answered  the  young  wife,  glancing  in- 
quiringly towards  her  husband. 
"  What  say  you,  then,  to  a  little  excursion,  *  &  pied  ?' " 
"  I  should  be  delighted,  Herbert.    Where  do  you  think  of  going  TH 
"  Guess  now  I" 
«  No — you  must  tell  me." 

"  You  forget.    According  to  Creole  custom,  our  honeymoon  is  to  last 
t  for  twelve  months.    Until  that  be  terminated,  you  are  to  be  master,  sweet 
Kate.     Where  would  you  most  like  to  go  ?" 

"  I  have  no  choice,  Herbert.  Anywhere.  In  your  company  it  is  all  th« 
same  to  me.  You  must  decide." 

"  Well,  then,  dearest,  since  you  leave  it  to  me,  I  declare  for  the  Jumb6 
Bock.  Its  summit  overlooks  the<  piece  of  land  we  intend  presenting  tc 
our  brother,  Cubina.  While  we  are  there  we  can  select  a  site  for  hit 
house.  Is  it  agreeable  to  you  ?" 

"  Dearest  Herbert,"  replied  the  young  wife,  entwining  her  arm  around 
that  of  her  husband's,  and  gazing  fondly  into  his  eyes ;  "  the  very  plaoe  I 
was  thinking  of." 
"  Why  of  it  ?    Tell  me,  Kate  ?" 
Shame,  Herbert  I    Must  I  tell  you  ?    You  know  that  I  have  told  yo* 


CONCLUSION.  38£ 

"  Tell  me  again.  It  gives  rae  pleasure  to  hear  you  speak  of  thaihcnr." 
"  Hour !  scarce  a  minute  was  it,  and  yet  a  minute  worth  all  the  rest  of 
my  life  I  A  minute  in  which  I  learnt  that  the  language  of  your  ey«s  vr&» 
truer  than  that  of  your  tongue  I  But  for  that  belief,  Herbert,  I  might,  in- 
deed, have  yielded  to  despair.  The  memory  of  that  sweet  glance  hauLfc- 
ed  mo — sustained  me  through  all.  Despite  all,  I  continued  to  hope  I" 

"  ALd  I,  too,  Kate.  That  remembrance  is  as  dear  to  me  aa  it  can  b»  to 
you.  Let  us  seek  the  hallowed  spot" 

*  *  *  »  * 

An  hour  after,  and  they  stood  upon  the  Jurnb*  Rock,  on  that  spot  BO 
consecrated  in  their  hearts. 

Herbert  appeared  to  have  forgotten  his  purpose.  Not  a  word  wat. 
said  about  Cubina  or  the  site  of  his  dwelling.  Not  a  word  of  the  Hap- 
py Valley,  or  the  unpleasant  recollections  it  was  calculated  to  call  up. 
All  the  past  appeared  to  be  forgotten,  except  that  one  eweet  scene  ;  and 
on  this  were  concentrated  the  thoughts  of  both — their  words  as  well. 

"  And  you  loved  me  then  ?"  inquired  he  only  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  an 
affirmative  anwer.  "  You  loved  me  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  Herbert  1  how  could  I  help  loving  you  ?  Your  eyes  were  so 
beautiful  then  1" 

"  What !    Are  they  not  so  now  ?" 

"  How  cruel  to  ask  the  question  1  Ah  1  far  more  beautiful  now  1  Then 
I  beheld  them  only  with  anticipation  ;  now  I  look  into  them  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  possession.  That  moment  was  pleasure — this  is  ecstacy/* 

The  last  word  was  perfectly  appropriate — not  a  shade  too  strong  to 
express  the  mutual  feeling  that  existed  between  Herbert  Vaughan  and 
his  cousin-wife.  As  their  rounded  arms  became  entwined,  and  their 
young  bosoms  pressed  fondly  together,  the  Maroons  and  all  put  dangtn 
were  forgotten,  and  ^oth  believed  that  even  in  this  unhappy  world 
toitacy  may  exist. 


j 


14  DAY  USE 

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